


A Prayer for Amber Eyes

by abbyfick



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Tsundere Felix Hugo Fraldarius, We take tsundere very literally in this house, but first: pining, idiots to lovers, it will earn its E, sex stuff comes later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbyfick/pseuds/abbyfick
Summary: I don’t know if his heart is here with meThough I wish him back, I know he cannot seeMy hands trembling, I hope he hears me speakI light this candle and watch it throwTears on my pillowHe cannot lose this fight, so I will stay tonightTo pray for amber eyesAnd if I have nothing left to showTears on my pillowWhat kind of life is this if the Goddess existsThen help me pray for amber eyes.Felix is hit by a powerful Fimbulvetr in the Valley of Torment. As his life hangs in the balance and the war drags on, Sylvain must grapple with the idea of losing the man he loves. In a heartbeat, everything can change.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 71
Kudos: 233
Collections: E130 collection of pain





	1. Chapter 1

They had all known Ailell would test them, even before the ambush. So many of them were from Faerghus, cold and clean and leagues away from this nucleus of the Goddess’s rage. The heat warped the very air of the place, thick with smoke and choking ash.

“I think I’m starting to see things,” Mercedes murmured, and every head turned to look. She was cautious and level-headed by nature, so when she spoke, they always listened. 

“Near those mountains over there… is it just me, or is there a group of people gathered there?”

It was not just her. The Gray Lion was waiting for them.

The battle seemed to drag on for an eternity, hell within hell. A battalion would advance, only to be driven back by burning boots and clinging tar. The violence appeared almost languid until one noticed the bodies strewn across the valley, red and shimmering, anguished cries strangely dampened.

Sylvain pitied his horse, whose eyes rolled with fear every time they were pushed too close to the flames. Together they fought valiantly, and together, they kept a watchful eye over Sylvain’s friends. Each time he felled one of Gwendal’s men, he would steal a glance around the battlefield, searching desperately for Ingrid and Dimitri and the Professor, and most of all, Felix. 

Always, he looked for Felix. As children, they had made a promise to each other: they would stick together, even if it meant they would die together. They hadn’t spoken of their promise in years, but Sylvain still took it seriously.

The low visibility was troubling him. It made him feel feverish, and afraid. He knew he had to swallow that fear if he wanted to survive, but his eyes kept flickering away of their own accord, seeking dark hair, a flash of steel, deadly grace. 

Still, he pushed forward, his orders clear in his mind. They had to rout the enemy, and escort Lord Fraldarius and his men safely back to Garreg Mach. Sylvain urged his mare on toward their allies, hoping Felix would be in the fray surrounding Rodrigue. As complicated as their relationship was, he knew Felix would do anything he could to protect his father. Sylvain had to see that he was safe.

All at once, something shifted. He felt a weight lift briefly from his skin, which had been sweltering under his armor. An uncanny crackling rent the air around him, and some instinct deep in his blood made him dive sideways off his mount a split second before she fell.

_ Mages.  _ The dastard Gwendal had brought mages with him. Hefting the Lance of Ruin, Sylvain ran headlong into the thick of the skirmish that stood between him and their allies. A renewed sense of urgency thrummed through his veins. He had to take out the casters as quickly as he could. He found the first one right away, hurling fireballs heedlessly into the scrum. Sylvain did not usually care for running his lance through someone’s back, but he also knew it was the safest way to engage with enemy magic. Strike first, and hope the caster falls before they have a chance to aim a spell at you. This time, he got lucky.

He knew there was at least one other nearby. The spell he had dodged a few minutes ago was not fire magic, it was something cold, and altogether more dangerous. Then he felt it again, off to his left. The air turned crisp and clear and there was a sensation of something  _ glittering. _ He spun around, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The mage was already engaged, and Sylvain had finally found Felix.

With a burst of speed that he didn’t know he was capable of, Sylvain sprinted toward him. He saw the sigil forming again as he ran, bright and cold.  _ No no no no no.  _ Felix raised his sword and darted forward like lightning, obviously hoping to end the spell and its caster before it crystallized. 

He wasn’t fast enough.

The Fimbulvetr hit Felix squarely in his chest. He was lifted high off the ground, the pink flush of battle draining rapidly from his cheeks, his body stiff and white and still when it landed a dozen feet away.

That same moment, the Lance of Ruin exited through the mage’s throat, silencing arcane words before more ice could be called forth. Sylvain’s pace barely slowed as he yanked his spear violently back. His eyes never left Felix.

“Mercie!” he screamed, his voice raw as he fell to his knees beside his friend. “Mercedes! Felix! Mercie please, Felix!”

He felt a swooping gust of air on the back of his neck, but he couldn’t turn around, not even if he had wanted to. Ingrid’s shrill voice rang out above him. “Goddess!” and then, desperate, “Mercie! Mercedes, where are you?” as she took to the sky again, in search of their only hope.

Sylvain pressed his hands onto Felix’s icy face, trying and failing to rub warmth back into his cheeks. His fingers were numb after only a few seconds against his skin. This couldn’t be real, Felix was too strong and fast and smart to fall.  _ To die _ , said a small voice in Sylvain’s head, and finally he had to turn away, to retch and heave. All around them, the battle was winding down, and still no one seemed to notice the small tragedy unfolding in their midst.

Then, mercy. Mercedes swept up and pushed Sylvain aside with surprising strength.

“Oh dear,” she breathed, as she hunched over Felix to examine him. His chest did not rise and fall as it should. Tugging a rigid eyelid open revealed only white where piercing amber ought to be. With a look of determination, Mercedes set her hands into a queer knot and an orb of warm, bright light passed into his chest, seeming to illuminate him from within. Still, he did not stir, but the concern on Mercedes' face eased fractionally.

Sylvain had stood and watched all of this, blank-faced and trembling. He was vaguely aware that the battle was over, but that hardly mattered anymore. He cocked his head at Mercedes, too frightened to put his question into words.

She gave him a small, sad smile. “Well, he’s not gone. I don’t know how, but the Sacred Light doesn’t lie.”

He just kept staring at her, willing her to tell him that Felix would be okay.

She sighed. “A Fimbulvetr that powerful should have been fatal. I think the only thing that saved him was the heat of this Goddess-forsaken place. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“What can we do?” Sylvain finally croaked.

“We get him back to the monastery for treatment, as quickly as we can... and we pray,” she replied simply.

He felt the whisper of wings behind him again, and Ingrid clattered to the ground beside him.

“Is he-?”

Sylvain was first to answer. “He’s alive. He needs to get back to Garreg Mach right away. Ingrid, can you fly him there?”

She nodded swiftly and turned to Mercedes. “You’ll need to come too, of course. Flayn can take you.”

Ingrid’s eyes cut back to Sylvain and she chewed on her lip for a moment. “Actually, I bet she’ll let you fly Felix back, Sylvain. You’ll have an easier time carrying him, and I can take Mercie. A pegasus isn’t too different from a horse, really.” She sounded uncertain about that last part, but Sylvain’s heart lifted the tiniest bit to think that he wouldn’t be left behind to face the long march home, with no news of Felix. He wouldn’t have been able to bear that.

The next few minutes were a blur. Lord Rodrigue had to be informed of his son’s condition, and although he looked wretched at the news, he immediately returned his attention to Dimitri.

_ The Boar _ , Sylvain thought bitterly, Felix’s name for Dimitri coming unbidden into his mind. Felix would despise his father for fawning over the prince like this. Sylvain would usually have a more charitable view of the matter, but given the circumstances, he despised him a little bit, too.  _ The Boar, over his own son. _

Flayn had agreed to let Sylvain take her pegasus, with a stern warning to be gentle with her. Sylvain nodded dully, thinking with a pang of his own sweet mare. His gentleness would be a given, but truly he would have agreed to any conditions she had set, anything to carry Felix to safety.

At last, they were in the air. Sylvain curled himself awkwardly around Felix’s stiff form, leaning them both forward against the streaming wind. Within minutes, he was shivering against the glacial cold that emanated from his friend’s back, pressing his heels beseechingly into tired flanks.

The minutes stretched into hours, and Sylvain passed the time crooning soft words of encouragement into Felix’s frozen ear, his teeth chattering all the while. “Almost there, Fe. Gonna get you warm. You’re okay, I’ve got you. Won’t let you go.”

.

Late that evening, Flayn’s pegasus finally touched down at the stables of Garreg Mach. Ingrid and Mercedes were there waiting, their flight having gone more smoothly, a lighter and warmer load for their mount. Sylvain dismounted clumsily, pulling Felix across his chest as he landed on the cobblestones. Ingrid silently took the reins and led the exhausted pegasus away for grooming.

Sylvain fixed Mercedes with a worried gaze. “What now?”

She tapped her fingers against her lips, and let out a pensive sigh. “A warm bath is in order, I think. I’ll get his quarters ready in the meantime. He’ll be most comfortable there.”

Sylvain nodded and hurried to the bathhouse, Felix heavy in his arms. He tried not to think about the implications of  _ keeping Felix comfortable, _ rather than rushing him straight to the infirmary for treatment. All he could do was place his faith in Mercedes, and in the Goddess herself. He choked out a half-laugh, half-sob at that thought. He had never been a particularly religious man, but here he was, desperate for a miracle, willing to believe in anything.

It took him several minutes to strip off both of their armor. Felix’s limbs resisted his gentle tugging, and Sylvain was afraid to hurt him by using any real force. His flesh wasn’t frozen solid, exactly. It was still pliable, but much harder and slower to movement than was natural.

“ _ Goddess, grant us mercy, _ ” he intoned quietly, as he lowered Felix into the steaming bath. Soot and blood streaked off of them, the heat of the bath flushing only Sylvain’s skin pink. Felix remained white and still in his arms, a beautiful marble statue. “Please bring him back to me.”

Ever so gently, Sylvain ran his fingers through Felix’s hair, lathering soap into the inky silk. For the first time in hours, he realized he was smiling to himself.

“I’m so sorry, Fe,” he murmured. “I know you would kill me for touching your hair… it’s really the only reason I haven’t tried to do it before.”

_ Half hoping you turn around and kill me now. Come on, Fe. Please.  _

His crooked smile faltered. Felix wasn’t warming, wasn’t moving, still wasn’t breathing. Panic began bubbling in his chest again, and he suddenly desperately needed reassurance from Mercedes that Felix would be okay. He hurried to rinse the suds away, and pulled Felix out of the water and into a soft towel with shaking hands.

Just as he realized there was no clean clothing for either to dress in, he heard an abrupt knock at the door.

“Sylvain? I brought you some clothes.” It was Ingrid. Perfect timing.

“Hang on, let me get decent real quick.” He tried to make his voice sound normal. Once he had a towel wrapped firmly around his waist, he unlocked the door for her.

Ingrid entered, and dropped a small bundle on the bench along the wall. She kept her eyes averted as Sylvain dressed them both, once again struggling against the stiffness in Felix’s limbs.

“Can I help you carry him back to his room?”

Sylvain opened his mouth to object, then realized how completely shattered he was. He wasn’t sure he could do it alone this time.

“Actually, yeah. Thanks, Ingrid.”

A few minutes later, they were back in Felix’s quarters. Mercedes had built a roaring fire and had dragged his bed right up to the hearthside. They settled Felix in a nest of furs and heavy blankets, and then the healer got to work. Her hands moved slowly over his body, unbundling him a little bit at a time for access. She was chanting something, so low that Sylvain and Ingrid couldn’t hear her. After several minutes of this, she once again created an intricate knot with her fingers and sent warm light into him. The glow Sylvain had noticed in Felix’s chest the last time she did this returned, burning bright for a moment before flaring out.

Mercedes grimaced and turned to her friends. “I’m completely out of my depth here. I’m afraid if I try to heal him all at once, it will be too much. I need to get to the library and see if I can find any information on how to approach this. But my instincts are telling me if he was able to survive the initial curse… I think he can pull through.”

The uncertainty in her voice was not lost on them.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Sylvain’s voice was tired, but pleading.

“Hmm... Ingrid, would you assist me in the library? The faster we can get eyes on the literature, the better.”

“Of course, Mercie.”

“And Sylvain, you’ll need to stay with him. Keep him warm, keep the fire going,” Mercedes continued.

“Yeah, no problem.” He rubbed his hand down the back of his head and sat down heavily on the foot of the bed.

“I’ll be back in the morning, okay?” She looked him over appraisingly, her brow furrowing at something she saw in his face. “And I’ll have some food sent up for you.”

“Thanks, Mercedes.”

She gave him a small, tired smile, and she and Ingrid left him alone with Felix.

Sylvain let out a long, slow breath. He had to stay strong. He forced a smile onto his face, hoping that a cheerful mask would make the job before him easier. He was good at masks. All he had to do was ignore everything his senses were telling him, and pretend his best friend wasn’t a frozen corpse. A tiny, hysterical laugh escaped his lips.

_ Keep him warm. _

“Well, Fe, we’re about to get real comfortable together.”

He stretched out behind Felix and wrapped his arms around him, and took another deep breath. He dropped his chin onto the top of the smaller man’s head and shuddered slightly. Even with the fire roaring, being this close to Felix chilled him to the bone. Still, he pulled him in as close as he could and gritted his teeth.

Felix smelled like a cold Faerghus morning. The snap of frost in shivering pine trees, and something else he didn’t have a name for, something pleasant and peppery. He smelled like home. After another deep breath to steady himself, he started to fill the silence as only Sylvain could.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, Felix. If I had been a little bit faster, we’d be marching back here with your dad right now. He’s fine, you know. We won today. I didn’t really stop to chat with him or anything… I was kind of preoccupied with getting you somewhere safe. 

“He seemed really glad to have found Dimitri. You would have been so pissed, Fe. It really seems like he has all his hopes pinned on him, and you know I hate agreeing with you, but… we all know what Dimitri is like these days. Your dad hasn’t been here, he hasn’t seen him like this. When he gets back, you’ll have to talk some sense into him, get everyone to realize that we have to win this war no matter what Dimit- We have to have a back-up plan, in case…

“You have to wake up, Fe. We need you. I need you. Seeing you like this… it’s… I can’t stand it.” 

Sylvain squeezed him tight, his voice trailing off. He breathed in more of Felix, trying to keep the rising panic at bay.

A knock at the door startled him.

“Come in.”

A pretty blonde that he recognized from the kitchens pushed the door open, balancing a tray on one arm. She looked surprised to see Sylvain wrapped so shamelessly around Felix. Her eyes jerked to a point on the wall, somewhere over their feet.

“Cheesy Verona Stew for you, sir. Miss Mercedes’ request?”

Sylvain felt a surge of anger at the kitchenmaid’s expression. Scowling, he got up and stepped across the room to take the tray.

“Thank you,” he snapped, then shut the door in her smirking face.

He moved aside some of the things on Felix’s desk, then sat down to eat. He was famished.

“And to think, I had been considering asking her out. I’m sure she’s just bursting to tell all of her friends that she saw me in bed with you.”

He swallowed a few bites of the piping hot stew, goosebumps prickling his skin at the sudden change in his body temperature.

“She’s just jealous. She’s not half as beautiful as you are,” he muttered quietly.

Sopping up the last of his stew with a crust of brown bread, a wistful grin crept onto his face.

“None of them are, you know.”

Sylvain noticed the fire was burning low, so he added more wood and stoked it thoughtfully, perched in front of Felix’s inert form. It was an odd sensation; his face burned in the heat of the flames, while his spine tensed against the cold of the body behind him. Still, he leaned back against him.

He had known for years that his feelings for Felix were more than friendly. He had also known that he valued their friendship far too much to ever admit that to anyone but himself. He felt a terrible sense of regret now, to think that Felix might die without knowing how much he is loved. The thought of  _ his death _ made his stomach clench, but Sylvain forced himself to face it: Mercedes didn’t know what she was doing. Nobody could say for sure whether he would pull through.

He dropped his head in his hands and let himself cry for the first time since he was a child. He had never cried for Miklan, nor for Dimitri, when they had thought him to be dead. A vision of Felix flat on his back in the Valley of Torment, his eyes blank and white, flashed into his mind. He doubled over in pain, shoulders shaking. He would give anything to see Felix’s sharp amber glare again. He snaked his arm back and found an icy hand. He held onto it for dear life, letting his fingers grow numb as he shook and sobbed himself back to emptiness.

When Sylvain slipped back under the blankets to lie with Felix, his cheeks were still wet, but his breath was even.

“Good night, Fe,” he whispered. “I love you.”

He kissed the top of his head, and fell into a fitful sleep.

.

_ Sylvain was nine years old, and he was running from Miklan. His lip was already bloodied, and he was scared of what his brother might do to him next. They were spending the summer at Fraldarius Manor again. He had hoped the change of scenery might keep Miklan distracted, but he was just as angry as ever. _

_ He ran around the back of the stables, and almost fell over when he heard someone call his name. It was Felix. He was in the hayloft. _

_ “Hey, Sylvain, where are you going?” _

_ “Oh, uh, I was looking for you.” He tried to stand up straight and look casual, but the terrified glance over his shoulder ruined the effect. _

_ Felix looked down at him shrewdly. “Why don’t you come up here then?” _

_ A grateful Sylvain ducked in the barn and scrambled up the ladder to join him. _

_ “This is my favorite place to come when I want to be left alone,” Felix told him. _

_ “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Sylvain promised. _

_ Felix met Sylvain’s frightened eyes. “I won’t either.” _

_ Sylvain’s heart pounded in his chest. So Felix knew his secret, and somehow, he was still acting like a friend. He had been ashamed for so long about what Miklan did to him. A strange sense of relief settled over him. _

_ He stuck his little finger out. “Stick together, always?” _

_ Felix locked his pinky around Sylvain’s. “Stick together, till we die together.” _

.

The rising sun peeked through the window and awoke Sylvain with a start. He was accustomed to waking in strange beds, but it took him a few moments to remember where exactly he was. His body ached from yesterday’s battle, and a night pressed up against Felix’s cold, hard body. He shivered and stretched and found a woolen coat to pull around his shoulders. It was Felix’s, so it was too small for him, but it brought him an inordinate amount of comfort.

He took a few minutes to build the fire back up until it was once again roaring in the grate, then he slipped into the privy to relieve himself. When he returned, he steeled himself to look again at Felix, and was disappointed but unsurprised to see that he looked exactly the same as he had the night before. Perhaps his hair was a bit mussed where Sylvain had buried his face in it as he slept. He guiltily reached out and tried to smooth it back down. Only a small improvement. 

A peek around the room revealed a boar-bristle brush and a small assortment of leather hair ties sitting on a shelf. Sylvain helped himself, then gently pulled Felix into a more upright position, propped against his legs as he stood at the edge of the bed.

“Come here, Fe. Let’s get you fixed up.”

He ran the brush through his hair until it was glossy again. He looked hopelessly at the hair tie in his hand, then back to the thick, dark cascade in front of him. With a shrug, he twisted his hair gently into an inexpert chignon.

“Sorry, not my best work. It’ll keep the tangles at bay though.”

Sylvain rearranged his friend so his back was to the fire. He wasn’t sure how his body was being affected by the spell, but he didn’t want to risk injury by leaving him in the same position for too long. He made a mental note to turn him again in a couple of hours.

A soft knock made him look up from his charge.

“It’s me,” Mercedes chirped through the door.

He felt a surge of hope in his chest, and crossed the room in two bounding steps to let her in.

“Any luck?”

She bit her lip. Sylvain’s heart plummeted.

“Well, like I said yesterday, it’s very rare for someone to survive a fully-charged Fimbulvetr. I’m not even sure it’s ever happened before. None of the major medic texts have any useful information for such an occurrence.” 

She tipped her head to the side and looked up into Sylvain’s tormented face. “I have some ideas though, about where else to look for guidance. Ingrid is already in the library, and I’ll be heading back there myself when I’m done here.”

“Okay,” he replied, trying to keep the defeat out of his voice. “I have faith in you, Mercedes.”

She blushed faintly. “Oh, it’s not me you need to have faith in, Sylvain. Give that to Felix, and to Sothis herself.”

Mercedes began to pull back the blankets swaddling Felix a little at a time, as she had done the night before. She worked her magic against every inch of his body, then sent the warm light into his chest once more.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes suddenly wide.

“What is it?” Sylvain demanded.

“Look, the Sacred Light, it’s lingering… oh.” She sounded disappointed. “I could swear it was glowing for longer this time. I’ve been really careful not to kindle too much, I’m certain I didn’t give him more, but it stayed.”

Her face was shining as she glanced over at Sylvain. “Don’t you see? He must be improving. It’s so small, but it must mean something.”

Sylvain really couldn’t be sure if the light had remained any longer than before, but he knew Mercedes would never lie. He allowed himself a sliver of hope, and returned her sunny smile.

“I do need to get back to the library, but you need breakfast. Go, eat. I’ll stay with him until you get back.”

He hesitated. He barely had an appetite, and he didn’t think he could face other people right now either. Hope be damned, his heart was still heavy with fear and grief.

“It’s still early. The others won’t be back until this evening,” she prompted, sensing his doubt.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll go grab a bite. Thanks, Mercie.”

Sylvain made a quick detour to his own quarters to change his clothes before heading down to the dining hall. The smell of baking bread made his stomach growl, and he decided that he was a little hungry after all. He piled his plate high with eggs and cheese and peppers and game, then balanced a fresh roll on top and helped himself to a cup of piping bergamot tea.

Mercedes had been correct, Garreg Mach was still virtually deserted. Halfway through his meal, however, he felt eyes on him. Sylvain had always had a sixth sense about being watched. He had been the center of attention everywhere he went since he was a young child, and usually, he reveled in it. But this morning, he was irritated to feel that familiar prickle on the back of his neck. 

_ Can’t I get any peace? _

He looked up from his plate and immediately saw the blonde kitchenmaid from the night before, pointing him out to a small bevy of cooks. They looked away when they saw him staring impassively back across the room at them, but he continued to keep his eyes fixed on the maid. She glanced back over at him and had the decency to look embarrassed. He raised his eyebrows at her in disgust and returned to his meal.

Sylvain knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, even if the scene the young woman had walked in on had been anything other than innocent. His fear of confessing his feelings to Felix was entirely founded on the fact that the man he loved did not love him back. He simply couldn’t face being rejected by him. He didn’t care a bit about what anyone else might have to say about it.

He had allowed himself to be distracted by his breakfast for long enough. All he could think about now was Felix, and getting back to his side. He shot one last withering look at the kitchen staff as he began his journey back to the dormitories, fighting down the sense of dread that was rising in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies are owed to Madonna for this one. [ "Pray for Spanish Eyes" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IlYJYQ3d_sk) came on my Spotify while I was running and at first I was like, "Ugh, not a good song for running," and then I was like, "But holy shit, it's a great song for a Sylvix fic!" I think that's the first time a ballad has ever made me run faster, because I booked it home to start outlining this story.
> 
> I'm still very new to writing, so I can only hope I do right by my favorite pairing. Lots more to come (I think 12 chapters total, that might change as I finish up some edits)… thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

When Ingrid came to visit late the next afternoon, Sylvain barely looked up to see who had opened the door. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the fire, Felix’s hands tucked between his own like a prayer. Ingrid’s eyes narrowed slightly when she noticed this, but she didn’t comment on it. She just dragged a chair closer to the fire, and sat down.

“How are we doing?” she asked.

She let the silence stretch out, waiting for him to answer.

Sylvain’s voice was hollow when he finally did. “I have to believe he’ll be okay.”

She reached out and briefly placed a hand on his knee. “Mercie thinks she found something.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“It’s still conjecture, but it reinforces what she already believed.”

“What’s still conjecture?”

“Well… it’s a myth. An old chivalry tale. But it’s the only example we could find of someone surviving this.”

Sylvain’s head dropped again. “And what does your myth say?”

Ingrid answered slowly, choosing her words with care. “That spell that almost killed him, the Fimbulvetr… it’s also what’s keeping him alive. It’s deep magic... and very complicated. All we know so far is that Mercedes is right to heal him slowly. If her Sacred Light drives out the lingering curse without properly taking hold in him… he’ll die, Sylvain.”

He inhaled sharply. “So what is she going to do?”

“Tip the scales a little at a time. Drive out the cold with controlled doses of her magic. And…”

“And?”

“We have to pray.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious, Sylvain. Yes, the victim in the story was healed by magic, but only because the people who loved him had faith. It’s what kept the Light going long enough to save him, to drive away the curse. Sacred Light burns hot and fast, and we need slow and steady. We’re still trying to work out all the contingencies, but prayer is the key to all of this.”

They were both silent for a few minutes, their eyes on the fire.

“Do you think the Goddess hears our prayers?” Sylvain asked quietly.

Ingrid’s brow furrowed. “I’ve struggled with that question for a long time. When Glenn died, I pretty much lost all my faith. What kind of Goddess would let that happen?”

Sylvain didn’t say anything.

“But this war… I feel like I’ve come to an understanding with her. When I was younger, I just prayed for everything. For Glenn, for my father, for money for my family, for the honor of knighthood…” She trailed off, her cheeks pink. “We can’t expect our every prayer to move her. It’s too much to ask. But I do believe that sometimes, she listens. I prayed and prayed for Dimitri, you know. After we thought he died. And we got him back. I still pray for him. Maybe someday, he’ll really be here.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I hope she listens now.”

“She will,” Ingrid replied simply. Then, “Do you need a break? I can stay with him if you want to go get dinner.”

“No thanks. I just need to think for a while.”

“Alright, Sylvain. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye, Ingrid. And... thanks.”

“‘Course,” she answered, a little awkwardly.

She left him alone with his thoughts.

.

Sylvain kneeled by the fire and stared into the flames as though hoping to find in them some hidden knowledge, some spark of hope. He took a shaky breath, then his brittle voice filled the room.

_Goddess Sothis,_

_It is you who brings the light to our world._

_It is you who brought me Felix, and shaped my heart to seek his light._

_Without his light, I am blind._

_Please, I am placing him in your hands._

_I would give up everything I have, everything, if you would heal him._

_Please, end his suffering, and bring him back to us._

_Amen._

.

He had sat and thought and prayed and tended to the fire for hours before he lay down. Felix was just as cold as he had been, but Sylvain thought he seemed a bit more supple when he pulled him into his strong embrace. He was still afraid to hope, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t just his imagination. 

A tentative hand reached up and lifted Felix’s eyelid. It resisted, but less than he expected. He held his breath, then turned his head away in disgust, pushing the lid closed over a blank white stare.

“Where are you, Fe?” he whispered. “I need you to come back to me.”

He pressed his face into Felix’s hair and let himself cry again. 

His dreams were haunted by Felix when at last he dropped off to sleep.

_._

_Sylvain was fifteen, and everyone was reeling from the news coming in from Duscur. They mostly spoke in whispers when he was around, but it wasn’t hard to figure out that something horrible had happened to the royal coterie._

_“What will Lord Fraldarius do, without his heir?” intoned one of the Gautier’s guards to his companion. “The other is still so young.”_

_His stomach did a flip when he heard that. Nobody had told him that Glenn had been killed. He didn’t know what it was like to love a brother, but he knew Felix must be in terrible pain._

_When no one was looking, he stole away on the back of his favorite mare. He rode her hard, a whole day to get to Fraldarius Manor. When they arrived, he led her into the stables, and climbed the ladder._

_In the fading light, he saw magnificent amber eyes, fierce with anguish._

_“What are you doing here?” their owner demanded._

_“I’m here, Fe,” he answered. “I’m just here.”_

_He lay down in the hay next to Felix and clasped his hand tightly in his own. They stayed like that all night, never saying a word._

_Sylvain’s father tore a strip off of him when he arrived home late the next afternoon, but he never bothered asking where he had gone._

_._

The next morning brought heavy rain and winds to Garreg Mach. Sylvain woke up feeling distinctly unrested. After unwinding himself from Felix, he gently rolled him closer to the embers in the grate, then got to work building up the fire. When the room started to warm, he got up and began pacing, long legs making short work of the close quarters. His eyes never left the still figure lying in the bed. After a few minutes, he sat back down, restless and frustrated. 

His brooding was cut short by a knock at the door. It was Ingrid, dripping wet under a heavy poncho.

“You look really terrible, Sylvain.”

“Wow, thanks. Good morning to you, too.”

“Did you not sleep?”

He heard the real concern in her voice, so he bit back another sarcastic reply. Instead, he looked away and shrugged.

“Well, you’re going to have to pull yourself together. Everyone got back to the monastery last night, and I expect you’re going to have quite a few visitors today.”

“Great,” he said tonelessly.

Ingrid frowned. “Go take care of yourself for a little bit. It’s still early, I doubt anyone else will be calling here for at least an hour. I’ll keep watch.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks. I’ll be back soon.”

Sylvain’s pride dictated that he visit the bathhouse before seeing anyone else that morning. He spread his shaving kit across the sink and stared at his reflection. Ingrid had been right, he did look awful. Rough stubble ran across his jaw, and dark circles framed bloodshot eyes. With a sigh, he began to lather his face for the razor.

A few minutes later, he slipped into the bath with a groan. He still ached all over. As he soaked, he tried to relax, but his mind kept drifting back to the one topic he most wanted to forget about. 

_The last time he was here, his hands were tangled up in Felix’s gorgeous long hair…_ his heart lurched, and an answering beat of desire drummed lower in his core.

Hedonist though Sylvain was, the sensation made him hate himself. How could he be _aroused_ while Felix was half-dead? He lowered himself all the way underwater and held his breath as long as he could, willing his body to remember his grief. 

_Goddess, please save Felix._

_And save me from myself._

.

When Sylvain returned after breakfast, the rain had tapered off, and Mercedes had taken Ingrid’s place at Felix’s side. She smiled in greeting, but faltered a little when she saw how tired he looked. He had hoped a bath and a meal might have helped his appearance, but apparently not enough to fool Mercie.

Sylvain wondered whether her keen eyes had also noticed a change in Felix’s condition. “Any news?” 

“Actually, it seems like the curse might be weakening slightly. He’s not as stiff as before, and it’s hard to tell, but he feels a little less cold, too.”

Sylvain brightened at this. “I thought so, too. Does that mean-?”

“I still don’t know how long it will take, if the spell can be broken altogether. And then…” she trailed off.

“What?” he prompted.

“Well, I don’t know whether it’s occurred to you... but there could be lasting effects. His mind, his body, I just don’t know what this type of injury might do to him.”

Sylvain frowned deeply. “Felix is the strongest person I know. Just heal him, and he’ll overcome whatever’s left.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” she replied kindly. “Have you been praying? Ingrid told me you sounded skeptical about invoking the Goddess.”

“It’s all I’ve been doing,” he answered, his voice low and rough.

A knock at the door put an end to their discussion. Annette and Ashe had come to visit, arms laden with gifts.

“I brought the herbs you requested, Mercie,” Ashe offered. He was staring at Felix, soft green eyes taking in his stillness, and he shuddered almost imperceptibly. “What are you going to-?"

“They’re for the fire, for now,” she answered. “If- Ah, when he’s awake, I’ll need more though.”

“Oh, okay. Um, hi Sylvain. How are you?” Ashe’s voice was bright, but he was looking at him uncertainly, as if expecting him to break into pieces.

Sylvain sat up straighter and felt the mask slip into place with frightening ease. 

“Could be worse,” he replied, a devil-may-care smile plastered to his face. _Just pretend everything is okay, and it will be._

“Ooooh, poor Felix!” lamented Annette. She had just finished arranging the vase of flowers she had arrived with, Lily of the Valley. The small white blossoms seemed to glow against the gloomy backdrop of the gray window, and Sylvain found himself staring at them.

Annette buzzed over to Felix’s bedside and waved her hands around helplessly. “Is he going to be okay, Mercie?”

“I don’t know yet, Annie. It seems like he’s improving, but progress is slow. Just keep praying, okay?”

“Ingrid told us about the prayer angle at dinner last night. It really is right out of a fairytale, isn’t it?” Ashe mused.

Sylvain’s stomach churned. He knew his friends meant well, but he hated having them crowded in here like this, so lightly discussing Felix’s fate.

He stood up abruptly, and everyone turned to look at him.

A wide smile came to his face readily. “I’m just going to stretch my legs for a bit, since you guys are all here to keep an eye on things."

He hurried from the room before anyone had time to reply.

When he got to the bottom of the dormitory stairs, he saw that the rain had started back up, a light but insistent drizzle, and he welcomed it. The cold mist hit his face like a balm, and he felt like he could breathe for the first time in several minutes. He hadn’t realized just how suffocated he had been feeling in that room, surrounded by company he didn’t want, and he felt a pang of guilt for it. _Those are our friends, they care about Felix, too,_ but knowing that hadn’t stopped him from feeling terribly lonely in their midst.

Sylvain’s feet had carried him to the training grounds, his hand on the door handle before he had even noticed where he was. His body was tense, and he realized with a jolt that he had been listening for the rhythmic _thwack_ of Felix’s sword, laying waste to wicker dummies. He pulled his hand away like he had been burned. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached back out and dragged the heavy door open.

The hall was empty. He slipped inside and walked slowly around the perimeter, feeling Felix’s absence keenly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in this place without him. Granted, Sylvain wasn’t much for training, but this was Felix’s natural habitat. He was _always_ here, and now, he wasn’t. Something in his chest twisted like a snake at the wrongness of it.

He paused in front of the weapon rack and ran his fingers lightly over the pommel of one of the wooden swords. His brow furrowed, and he moved his hand instead to the hilt of a nearby lance.

The Professor would have been proud of the intensity of his exercises that morning. When he was done, half a dozen of his opponents had been run through so thoroughly that they were now more _air_ and _idea_ than dummy. Even Felix might have been impressed.

Panting and grunting with satisfaction at the renewed ache in his shoulders, Sylvain cleared up the wreckage before walking back to the dorms, letting the rain wash away his sweat and tears.

.

“There you are!” Mercedes exclaimed. “I was just starting to worry about you.”

Sylvain gave her a weak smile and leaned against the mantel. She noticed that he had changed his clothes again, but something in his haunted face stopped her from asking where he had been.

“The Professor just left. She had to go talk to Lord Fraldarius and Gilbert about the, ah, problem with His Highness… but she wanted to see how Felix was doing first. She has been very anxious about his condition since we left them in Ailell.”

“Oh.”

Sylvain realized he was probably expected to say more than that. With an effort, he smiled broadly and added, “I’m glad to hear she got back safe.”

Mercedes seemed satisfied with his response and returned his smile.

“I actually really need to get going. The infirmary is filled with casualties now, and I’m sure Manuela could use my assistance.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to have kept you so long-” began Sylvain, but Mercedes waved off his apology.

“No no, you needed a break, that’s fine. You’ve been so helpful, Sylvain, and I don’t want you burning out. Felix is very lucky to have you here with him.”

Sylvain looked at the floor. “Yeah, sure.”

“Anyway, I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. Bye, Mercie.”

Sylvain stretched out beside Felix and studied his face for perhaps the hundredth time since he had been left in his care. Backlit by a crackling fire, his elegant features seemed to radiate light. Sharp chin gave way to full lips that were accustomed to scowling, but were softened in his enchanted sleep. Long lashes that locked away beautiful amber eyes brushed against high cheekbones that looked proud even now. In happier times, Sylvain would tease and goad and flirt relentlessly to get color and heat to flood those cheeks, and then he would revel in the knowledge that he held this one small power over his friend. Perhaps he could not make Felix love him, but he could get under his skin like nobody else. He knew it was pathetic, but the game of _making Felix blush_ was one of his favorite pastimes. His heart lurched as he wondered if he would ever have that pleasure again.

Staring at him like this was strangely calming, even as waves of grief ebbed and flowed through his veins like it had replaced his very blood. He felt half-entranced, and a surge of faith came over him all at once. He reached out and laid one tender hand on Felix’s chest, over where his heart should have been beating, and whispered a prayer.

_Goddess Sothis,_

_I have not always walked the right path, or accepted your will._

_I may never do those things._

_I lie here a flawed and frightened man._

_I am not here to ask for your forgiveness, but I must beg your help._

_Please, open Felix’s heart to the Sacred Light._

_Let it burn steady, so that he may heal._

_Open his eyes, so that I can know them again._

_My life is nothing without him._

_Please, guide him home to us._

_Amen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily of the Valley flourishes in cold climates, and is said to bring luck in love. Good looking out, Annette!


	3. Chapter 3

A week had passed since Ailell, and Felix’s father had finally come to visit.

Rodrigue cut an imposing figure, although he was a couple of inches shorter than his son. His reputation as the Shield of Faerghus was well-earned. He was a great warrior and a skilled tactician. Sylvain had never really felt at ease around the man, despite knowing him his entire life. There had always seemed to be a disconnect between who he was as Lord Fraldarius, and who he was as his friend’s father. He flourished in court and on the battlefield, but seemed to wither at home. The distance between Rodrigue and Felix only grew after Glenn’s death, and Sylvain could never understand how losing one son would make someone push the other further away. But then, there was a lot Sylvain didn’t understand about family. His own wasn’t exactly ideal, either.

The older man nodded an acknowledgment to Sylvain, then addressed Mercedes. “You’re the healer, aren’t you? Byleth tells me you are very skilled. Don’t let me interrupt your work.”

Mercedes bowed her head to him and turned back to Felix. She began the ritual of uncovering and blessing his body bit by bit, then sent a perfect orb of Sacred Light into his heart. By now, there was no mistaking it. The light lingered for several seconds before it dimmed.

She was beaming when she looked up at the other two men. “Sylvain, I daresay our prayers are working!”

Rodrigue cast a confused glance between them.

“What’s this of prayers?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Lord Fraldarius, I should explain! The magic needed to heal your son is channeled directly from the Goddess herself. It’s a very obscure and unstable power, and it requires prayer to work the way we need it to, for Felix’s condition. I’m sure your own prayers have been helping him, too.”

“My-? Of course,” Rodrigue replied haltingly. “I shall return to the cathedral now. Prince Dimitri is there. I shall... pray for them both.”

“Dimitri?” Sylvain asked, a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Yes. His Highness needs me.” He swept out of the room as fury transformed Sylvain’s handsome face.

Mercedes looked alarmed at Rodrigue’s sudden departure, but shifted uncomfortably toward the door herself. “Um, I actually need to get going too. We still have patients in the infirmary that need my attention.”

Sylvain responded through gritted teeth. “Fine. Thanks, Mercie.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Sylvain whipped around and slammed his fist into the hard stone wall.

_ “Fuck!” _

He cradled his broken hand and began pacing again, muttering angrily to himself.

“Fucking idiot couldn’t even spend five minutes with his own son.”

Then, louder, “He deserves better than that, Sothis!”

Sylvain felt a waft of fresh air and spun around. Byleth was standing in the open doorway. It was the first time Sylvain had seen her since that cursed battle.

“I heard shouting,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Sorry, Professor,” he grumbled.

She looked down at his injured hand and frowned. “Give that here,” she ordered, holding her own hand out expectantly.

Sylvain complied. There was a tiny flash of white light, and an uncomfortable sensation, his bones pulling straight. He let out a pained hiss, then flexed his fingers to test them. Tender, but whole again.

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly.

She waved off his gratitude and circled Felix’s bed, gazing down at him curiously.

“I saw Mercedes a minute ago, she seemed very pleased with his progress.”

“Yeah, he’s- It looks like he might be getting better.” Sylvain cleared his throat. “Hopefully soon.”

He felt the Professor’s eyes on him, and forced himself to look up at her.

“And how are you holding up, Sylvain?”

“Oh.” He considered lying, putting on one of his masks and telling her that he was just fine. 

She tipped her head at him expectantly, and the words caught in his throat. 

“Not great. Pretty devastated, actually.”

Byleth nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“Bullshit. I should have been there to help him, I should have-”

“Felix is a gifted swordsman. I trust him to fend for himself,” she said firmly. “I know you two have a special relationship, but that doesn’t make you responsible for him. Ailell was bad luck, plain and simple.”

Sylvain’s chest tightened. “Special relationship?”

Byleth delicately arched her eyebrow. “Do you not?”

“No, not like… Felix doesn’t… it’s not like that. He’s my best friend.”

She looked at him with something like pity on her face. “I stand by what I said.”

Sylvain scowled at her, trying to figure out what she meant. The woman could be so maddenly  _ opaque _ sometimes.

“I have to get back to work. We need to press our advantage after our victory over House Rowe, and there are a lot of big decisions to make. I’m sure Mercedes will keep me apprised of Felix’s condition.” 

On her way to the door she paused, then added, “I have full faith that he will recover,” before making her exit.

Sylvain leaned his forehead against the door after she left. He felt confused and angry and completely drained, and it wasn’t even noon yet. He resisted the urge to hit something again, his hand still tingling from its freshly-healed injury. Instead, he began to pace, thinking wryly to himself that Felix’s floor would be worn down to the studs if nothing changed soon.

He had never been a patient man, a product of mostly getting his way his whole life. He wouldn’t say that this ease with which he moved through the world had made him happy. In fact, much of his existence felt empty, perfunctory. He was, after all, just a vessel for his Crest, destined to produce another vessel, then die some storied and heroic death in someone else’s service. All of the pleasures he had spent his life chasing were sad reminders that none of it really mattered. Telling himself that they were in fact pleasures was one of the ways he fooled himself into soldiering on in the face of so much futility.

Felix had never believed that he derived any real satisfaction from his conquests. Sylvain suspected that was why he so ruthlessly castigated him for his habits.  _ Disgusting, _ he called them. Sylvain would just laugh, and tell him to lighten up. That was a mask he hated wearing, to hide the one truth he could never tell. To hide the fact that the only real joy and meaning in his life came from the man who so frequently regarded him with disappointment and disdain.

Now more than ever, he couldn’t stand to think of the pointlessness of it all.  _ Heroism, pleasures, masks. _ The only person in his life who made him feel  _ real _ had been lying dead, for all intents and purposes, for a week.

He needed a distraction. He took a calming breath and looked around the room. There was a small stack of books tucked to the side of Felix’s shelf, set apart from the neat rows of political and tactical texts. Sylvain took a step closer to see what they were.

_ Ah, chivalrous tales. _ He knew Ashe had been pushing Felix to read them, thinking they might awaken some dormant part of his brain that would appreciate the principles of chivalry. Owing to the fine layer of dust on their jackets, Sylvain guessed that Felix had never gotten around to that.

He picked one off the top of the pile. Sylvain smirked to himself.

“Have you read this one, Fe? Looks like lots of chivalry, and probably kissing. Definitely right up your alley!”

He cleared his throat dramatically, and began to read aloud.

He was still reading hours later, his voice hoarse but determined, when he was startled by a soft knock at the door. 

“It’s me. Is that Loog and the Maiden of Wind you’re reading?”

“Uh, yeah. Come in, Ingrid.”

She pushed the door open, a wide smile on her face, tea tray balanced against her hip.

“That is my favorite story! Don’t stop on my account!”

Sylvain shot her a funny look. “I was just killing time.”

“Come on, please? I brought you tea. It’s only fair.”

“I’m almost at the end though.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s the best part!”

He had to admit, her enthusiasm was endearing. He sniffed theatrically at the steam rising from the teapot.  _ Bergamot _ . “Alright, fine. But only because you brought my favorite brew.”

Sylvain read on, pausing his narration only to sip tea. Ingrid listened with rapt attention, her eyes shining as he reached the conclusion about half an hour later.

She sat back in her chair with a happy sigh. “That ending gets me every time.”

“Are you kidding? It was so cliche. The star-crossed lovers always end up together.”

“Sylvain,” she scolded. “Everybody wants a happy ending.” 

Her eyes darted conspicuously from him, to Felix, and back. “Don’t you?”

He grunted and turned his face away from her, expression pained.

Ingrid raised her hands apologetically. “Forget I said anything. I just hate seeing you like this.”

“Well, I hate seeing him like this.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence hung in the air.

“I should probably get going. It’s late.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the tea, Ingrid.”

“Of course. ‘Night, Sylvain.”

“‘Night.”

Sylvain sat quietly for several minutes, utterly exhausted, before bowing his head.

_ Goddess Sothis, _

_ I am so tired. _

_ But still, I pray, because it is my only hope. _

_ Please, heal Felix. _

_ I love him, and I need him, but that doesn’t matter. _

_ He deserves so much better than this. _

_ Please, just bring him back. _

_ Amen. _

He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his face before he collapsed into bed and buried his face in Felix’s hair. Sleep came quickly, as did his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t planning on posting at all today, but I am writing chapter 10 rn and I am STUCK. I have a desperate need to feel productive, so, you’re getting not one but two chapters, because this one is so short. 
> 
> Pray to Sothis I get my groove back ASAP bc I am stressing


	4. Chapter 4

_Sylvain was nineteen, and he was fulfilling his duty by training at Garreg Mach. It wasn’t all bad. The nearby town was teeming with pretty girls, and at least he was far away from the dysfunction of home. When he wasn’t going through the paces in class, he was chasing distractions._

_He had been out late the night before, like usual. A willowy brunette had caught his eye, and one thing had led to another. The Professor had made it clear that he was not to miss another training session, so Sylvain obediently staggered over to the arena, bright and early._

_Felix was already there, of course, and in perfect form. The training dummies would be needing medical attention after he was done with them. Sylvain stood off to the side for a bit, watching him dart around with his training sword. He was so quick and graceful and sure of himself, it was really something to behold._

_“Are you just going to stand there like an idiot all day, or are you going to spar with me?”_

_Sylvain laughed, cocky. “You’re going to kick my ass, Fe. I barely slept last night.”_

_Amber eyes flashed with anger. “Are you ever going to take this seriously? Or are you more interested in getting laid than in staying alive?”_

_“I’m just having a little fun, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Sylvain fixed him with his most dazzling smile. A mask._

_“Nothing wrong?” Felix barked out a derisive laugh. “Prove it then. Pick up a lance, and beat me.”_

_“Alright, if you insist,” he drawled. He walked over to the weapon rack at a leisurely pace, selected a light wooden lance, and gave it a small flourish before returning to the ring._

_They bowed to each other, then began to spar. It took all of fifteen seconds for Sylvain to end up flat on his back, Felix’s boot on his chest, a wooden blade at his throat. Sylvain just laughed, which made Felix furious, which made Sylvain laugh harder._

_The Professor picked that exact moment to enter the training grounds. She folded her arms and waited for Sylvain to stand up and brush himself off before she greeted them._

_“Felix, I wanted to talk to you about the upcoming White Heron Cup.”_

_His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about it? Are you considering me as our representative?”_

_“Actually, yes.”_

_“You really couldn’t find anyone else?” he huffed._

_Sylvain knew that he shouldn’t goad him in front of the Professor, but he couldn’t help himself. “You know Felix, you look like a dancer when you’re fighting sometimes. I think you’ll be perfect.”_

_Felix glared daggers at him, but Byleth was nodding enthusiastically._

_“That’s exactly why I’m choosing him,” she agreed. “And Felix, if you put the time in to train as a dancer, it will bring your swordsmanship to a whole new level. Just think of it as a new physical challenge.”_

_“Fine, I’ll do it.”_

_The competition was held the night of the grand ball. Like everything else Felix had ever set his mind to learning, he danced flawlessly. Sylvain had watched from the back of the audience, mesmerized by his friend’s grace and fluidity and the way loose strands of his hair flew behind him as he leapt and twirled. Unlike the other entrants, there was unmistakable power behind Felix’s movements, something that made him look dangerous, even in the most subtle sway of his hips._

_He won, of course. What came next was arguably the worst part, for someone like Felix: swarms of well-wishers fawning over him, endless congratulations and earnest compliments._

_Sylvain danced with a dozen girls that night, grinning whenever he caught a glimpse of the squirming Felix, surrounded by admirers. Finally, he saw an opening to talk to him alone._

_He approached with his hand extended. “May I have this dance?”_

_Felix glowered, a pretty blush rising in his cheeks. “What are you doing?”_

_Sylvain gave him a pitiful look. “What does it look like? I want to dance with you. Please?”_

_Felix looked at the floor for a second, then back up at Sylvain, his face inscrutable. “Fine.”_

_Sylvain was beaming as he took his hand and led him onto the dance floor. The orchestra was playing a mid-tempo waltz. Sylvain wrapped his arm around Felix’s slender waist and pulled his body close. Felix’s ears were burning red as they began to slowly spin and sway around the room._

_“You were amazing out there tonight, Fe,” he purred._

_“Thanks.” Clipped, embarrassed._

_“Looks like you won yourself a lot of fans, too. Anyone catch your eye?”_

_Felix made a small noise of disgust._

_“What, really? All those cute girls falling all over you, and you don’t want to dance with any of them?”_

_“Shut up, Sylvain.” There was an edge to his voice now._

_“I know you’re always telling me off for my libertine ways, but the knife cuts both directions, Fe. Why are you so afraid to enjoy yourself?”_

_Felix’s head snapped up to look him dead in the eyes. He looked angry, and so sensuous. It made Sylvain’s heart skip a beat._

_“I’m not afraid of anything,” he growled._

_Sylvain raised his eyebrows, for once at a loss for words._

_When the song ended, Felix turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Sylvain didn’t see him again that night, and although he danced until the small hours, he felt no more joy in it._

_._

The morning light woke Sylvain by degrees. He had been having a nice dream, something about dark hair and warm skin. He breathed in deeply, and nuzzled against soft flesh that smelled like home. _Oh._ Gently parting his lips, he pressed a kiss into it. Further down the bed, his hips pushed his arousal greedily against a lithe, strong back. _Mmm._ He lifted his head and gazed sleepily down at the beautiful man in his arms. 

_“Fuck.”_

Sylvain was awake now, and suddenly felt sick. He rolled onto his back, away from Felix, and took a shaky breath.

“I am so sorry, Felix.”

He got up quickly after that, running through the morning routine as clinically as possible. Fire, built. Felix, turned. Sylvain, heartbroken. Check, check, check.

He had his boots halfway on before he realized that Felix had actually felt warm.

“Goddess,” he breathed. He rushed back over to the bed, and laid a tentative hand against his cheek. _Warm_.

He bolted across the room in one leap, and threw the door open. A mop of silver hair was bobbing along halfway down the hall, no doubt heading toward the library.

“Ashe!” he hollered, causing the younger man to jump.

“Oh, hey Sylvain! Is everything okay?”

“Please, can you get Mercie? Right now?”

“Of course. I’ll go find her right away.” He looked bewildered, but he ran off without any questions.

It felt like an eternity, waiting for Mercedes. Sylvain resumed his frantic pacing, stopping abruptly now and again to check that Felix really did feel warm and soft and almost _normal_. He was still lying unnaturally still, no apparent breath or pulse quickening his body, but this was a huge change, and Sylvain’s nerves were jangling at the possibilities.

He heard footsteps outside at last, and dashed back to the door to fling it open. Mercedes and Ingrid stood before him, looking slightly bemused at the wild expression on his face.

Sylvain grabbed Mercedes by the arm and dragged her over to the bed, pushing her hand down to touch Felix’s face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” Ingrid demanded.

Mercedes grinned at her. “He’s warm.”

“What does it mean? Why isn’t he breathing yet? Why isn’t he awake?” All of Sylvain’s questions started pouring out of his mouth at once.

“I don’t know!” she cried. “But if this much Light has taken root in him… I think it’s finally time to test the limits of my power.”

Sylvain stepped back and resisted the urge to start pacing again.

Mercedes ran her hands just above the surface of Felix’s skin, as she had every day since he had fallen under this terrible spell. Her smile grew wider and more beatific as she worked her way over his body. When at last she began to twist her fingers to summon the Sacred Light, she turned back to her friends.

“Now would be a good time to pray.”

He balled his hands into impatient fists _, Goddess, please,_ as blinding white light filled the room. Mercedes was no longer holding back.

First, a ragged gasp. Then radiant amber eyes flew open.

Sylvain stifled a sob.

“Felix, are you okay? Do you know where you are?” Ingrid buzzed forward, unable to contain her anxiety.

“I’m fine. I’m in my room at the monastery,” he answered, his voice a little breathy, but otherwise in a perfectly normal, irritated tone. 

Mercedes grabbed his wrist to take his pulse, and seemed satisfied by what she felt. “You were hit with a powerful curse at Ailell, and you’ve been out for a number of days-” she began.

“I know,” he interrupted. His eyes found Sylvain, and he pushed himself up onto his elbows, grimacing. “You’re crying _again_?”

The room went very still at that, an eerie impression of Sylvain’s arrested heart. He sat heavily on the edge of Felix’s bed, and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Um. ‘Again?’”

Felix merely glared at him, his eyes magnificent and unfathomable.

“So, you… heard that?” Sylvain pressed reluctantly, his heart in his throat.

“Obviously.”

“You heard…” His voice trailed off.

“Everything,” Felix confirmed.

Ingrid coughed pointedly, and yanked a very unwilling Mercedes out of the room, closing the door firmly behind them. Sylvain remained perched on the bed, frozen in amber.

_Oh, Goddess._

“You are such an idiot," Felix snapped.

“I’m really sorry, Fe. I didn’t-”

Felix’s hand was suddenly balled up in the collar of his shirt, pulling him down. Before he had a moment to register what was happening, Felix was kissing him.

All the tension fell away from Sylvain’s body, replaced by disbelief, then joy. He leaned in closer, slipping his hand behind Felix’s neck and deepening the kiss.

Too soon, Felix turned his head away, gasping to catch his breath. He fell back onto his pillow and began to cough, eyes screwed shut in discomfort. 

“Shit, are you okay? Do you need Mercedes? I’m so sorry-” Sylvain started babbling, an edge of panic in his voice.

“Would you please stop apologizing,” Felix hissed through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and Sylvain was struck for perhaps the thousandth time just how beautiful they were. 

“I’m just tired. I’m fine.” He noticed then the way Sylvain was looking at him, and color began to rise in his cheeks, his eyes flicking away to a point somewhere over his shoulder. 

“You really are an idiot, you know,” he grumbled.

Sylvain took hold of Felix’s hand and opened his mouth to answer, but a knock at the door interrupted him.

“It’s us,” announced Ingrid loudly. “We’re back with breakfast.”

Felix rolled his eyes. Sylvain hesitated, then squeezed his hand as he called back to her. “You can come in.”

After a conspicuous pause, the door opened and Mercedes and Ingrid entered, each carrying a heavy tray.

“You can eat after I finish examining you,” Mercedes declared sternly as she set down her tray on the desk.

Sylvain withdrew his hand from Felix’s as he stood to make way for Mercedes, but not before Ingrid noticed and smirked at him. He gave her a lopsided grin in return as he took the tray out of her hands and set it on the mantel.

Mercedes fluttered around Felix for several minutes, checking all his vital signs and prodding at his hands and feet, while the others waited in silence. Felix looked very put upon throughout the whole ordeal, but he managed to not complain, much. 

“Apart from some fluid in your lungs, you seem to be in perfect health,” she finally declared. “I’m prescribing some herbs and a week of bedrest, but I expect you’ll be making a full recovery.”

Felix began to object, but she cut him off.

“I mean it, Felix. Your training can wait. You need to let your body finish healing, and you will be under strict supervision to ensure that happens.”

He scowled at her, but another coughing fit strangled his objection. “Supervision-?”

“Yes, assuming Sylvain doesn’t mind continuing on as your caretaker? I’m sure other arrangements can be made if necessary, but…” she trailed off, her face arranged in a perfectly innocent expression.

“Fine, if you insist,” Felix groused. Then he glanced over at Sylvain, and a shadow of doubt crossed his pale face. “I mean- If you-?”

Sylvain raised his eyebrows. “Of course, Fe.”

“Wonderful!” she chirped. “Now, you need to eat before all this food gets cold. Then off to the bathhouse with you. The steam will help your chest.”

She rounded on Sylvain, and this time there was no mistaking the mischief in her smile. “And don’t you dare let him out of your sight!”

As the door shut behind her and Ingrid, Felix and Sylvain heard them dissolve into a fit of giggles. Felix’s cheeks had turned pink again, and a hint of uncertainty remained in his face.

Sylvain quietly moved to his side and helped him sit up, propped against a mound of pillows and furs. Now that they were alone again, memories of every desperate, tender word he had uttered over the past week flooded his mind, and dropped like stones into his stomach. He focused on laying out their breakfast, willing his hands not to shake.

“Tea?” he offered.

Felix nodded and took the cup, his eyes on Sylvain. Wary.

“You hungry at all?”

A small shrug. Indifferent.

Sylvain assembled a modest plate of toast and bacon. “Here, start with this.”

He made up a similar plate for himself, nerves having killed his appetite. He perched at the foot of the bed, far from Felix.

Then they ate, awkward silence stretching between them.

Finally, Felix snapped. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Sylvain looked up at him guiltily. “What?”

“We’ve already established you’re an idiot,” he growled. “I kissed you, Sylvain. _Say something.”_

Sylvain took a shaky breath and set his plate down. 

_No masks,_ he admonished himself. 

He crawled up to the head of the bed, leaned back into the pillows next to Felix, and wrapped his arms around him. He dropped his face down into his hair and inhaled that wonderful spiced pine. Felix sat stiff in his embrace, brow furrowed.

“This doesn’t feel real, you know,” Sylvain finally said, his voice muffled.

Felix relaxed slightly. “I’m still not sure it is,” he answered quietly. “Sylvain, do you really…?” He trailed off, unable to say the words.

Sylvain buried his face deeper into Felix’s hair, eliciting a small shiver in response. “I’ve loved you since forever, Fe.”

He went very still, and it took him a moment to speak again. “How come you never told me?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” His arms tightened around him as he spoke.

“You wouldn’t have,” he whispered.

Sylvain planted a soft kiss on the top of his head. “Well, like you said, I’m an idiot.”

Felix let out a low laugh, then began coughing. Sylvain held him as he gasped and wheezed, rubbing his back and making quiet soothing sounds in his ear until he was breathing again.

“Come on, let’s get you to the bath. Mercedes is right, it’ll help your cough.”

Felix was too winded to do anything but nod. Sylvain helped him up onto shaking legs, taking most of his weight as they moved toward the door.

“Are you sure you can walk?” he asked skeptically.

“Don’t you dare pick me up,” Felix warned.

“Alright, alright. We’ll take it slow.”

It took them twenty minutes to walk to the baths, and in the end, Sylvain did carry him down the dormitory stairs. Felix doubled over and coughed for a full minute after they got there.

“Goddess, Fe. That sounds really bad. Is there anything-?”

Felix raised his hand to quiet him.

“Just give me a second,” he gasped. “Getting used to breathing again.”

Finally his breath slowed, and he stood up straight, a blazing look on his face.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

Sylvain took a step toward him and gently began to lift Felix’s shirt. Felix dropped his gaze, his cheeks starting to burn again as the fabric whispered against his skin.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

Once his shirt was gone, Sylvain’s hands dropped down to his waist, resting lightly on the band of his pajama pants.

“Okay?” His voice was a soft breath in Felix’s ear.

“ _Yes_.”

Sylvain knelt down before him, slowly peeling silky fabric away from electrified skin. Felix watched him through half-lidded eyes, his breath hitching as Sylvain’s hands ran down his thighs, leaving him exposed.

He got back to his feet slowly, a sultry smile playing at his lips as he took in Felix’s body. He had seen it before, plenty of times, war having long ago removed any semblance of modesty among their cohort. But this was the first time he felt he had permission to really _look_ , to admire. Felix was lean, an economy of strong muscles and smooth white skin, the flat plane of his stomach leading to a sparse tuft of dark hair and a half-hard cock. He was uncut, in the Northern fashion, and generously proportioned.

Felix reached up and undid the leather tie at the back of his neck, loosing his shining black hair in a great cascade. Sylvain exhaled sharply, his pupils flaring to take in the perfect vision before him.

His own clothing came off more easily, in smooth, well-practiced movements. He felt Felix’s eyes on him as he undressed, grazing across his broad, muscular back as he bent forward, skimming over the freckles on his shoulders, and then, as he stood up straight before him, drinking in the map of scars criss-crossing his chest, the taut ripple of abdomen, and finally, the weight of his growing arousal.

He turned away and stepped down into the hot water, reaching out a strong, steadying arm to help Felix follow. As soon as he was safely in the bath, Sylvain’s adept hands tugged him backwards into his lap, and tucked his shoulder under his chin.

“Still okay?”

Felix hummed his approval.

Sylvain brushed his fingers up his arms, barely touching him, then swept the beautiful hair off the back of his neck. His lips pressed into Felix’s collarbone.

“Hey, Fe?” he asked, his voice rough but cautious.

“Hmm?”

He ran his fingers up the back of his neck again, tangling them gently in the hair at the base of his scalp.

“Can I wash your hair for you?”

Felix tensed for a moment, and Sylvain began to withdraw his hand. Then to his surprise, Felix let his head drop back into his palm, rolling his neck exquisitely against his touch.

“Fine.” A thin veneer of exasperation, but consent nonetheless.

Sylvain smiled blissfully as he began to carefully wet Felix’s hair. The fresh herbal soap lathered richly as he ran his fingers firmly against his scalp, rubbing in small circles, combing down through the dark, silken strands. To his delight, Felix seemed to become completely unraveled by this. Every muscle in his body relaxed, and his face looked so heartbreakingly vulnerable, Sylvain could barely stand to look at it. He was certain no one else had ever seen him like this. It felt like a treasure, a bright and shining gem glowing within him.

“You are _so beautiful_ ,” he murmured.

Felix rolled his neck again before pulling away to dip underwater, rinsing the soap from his hair. When he resurfaced, he moved back into Sylvain’s lap, this time facing him, his mouth slack, amber eyes aflame. Small puffs of vapor formed with each of his shallow breaths, merging with the steady steam of Sylvain’s deeper, slower exhalations.

“Are you ever going to kiss me?” he demanded.

Sylvain laughed softly and reached up to stroke his cheek.

“I’m afraid I’ll take your breath away again,” he teased.

Felix started to scowl, but Sylvain was already leaning in to capture his mouth with his own. Tenderly, at first, his lips parting to nibble softly, before pulling back to make sure he really was able to breathe. 

A frustrated snarl rose in Felix’s throat, and Sylvain kissed him again, this time with urgency and heat. His hands roamed over his body, caressing first his neck, then his lower back, then the sensitive flesh stretched across his hip bone. Felix shuddered against him as teeth scraped at lips, eager tongues darted ever deeper, the boundaries between _his_ and _mine_ blurring and then disappearing altogether.

Sylvain moaned as he felt a confident hand drop from his neck, drag down his stomach, and wrap itself around his cock. He pulled back from their kiss, resting his forehead for a moment against Felix’s temple.

“Felix,” he warned, voice straining.

A small, petulant sound answered.

“You’re supposed to be on bedrest.” Sylvain’s hips bucked involuntarily, betraying his authoritative tone.

Felix breathed hot laughter against his jaw. “With allowances made for bathing, if I recall.”

Sylvain dug bruising fingers into the tops of Felix’s thighs.

“Besides,” Felix rumbled into his ear, “I feel fine.” To prove his point, he hitched his hips forward, his hand loosening its grip on Sylvain to allow his own erection to thrust alongside him.

Sylvain’s eyes closed for a moment, and a moan slipped from his lips.

“Goddess, you’re persuasive. At least let me do that.” His hand reached between them and forcefully displaced Felix’s. “There, now you rest.” His voice rough, insistent.

Felix accepted his orders gracefully, arching his back and sighing deeply as Sylvain wrapped a possessive arm around his waist and ran his greedy mouth over his neck and collarbone, marking his skin. _Mine._

Between them, Sylvain’s hand artfully stroked and twisted, working against the covetous thrusts of hips, building heat and friction until Felix was stuttering his name, _Sylvain_ , the most bewitching sound he had ever heard, and together, they came undone.

Felix’s arms and legs wrapped around his torso, clinging to him like he needed an anchor to keep from floating away. They were both gasping, but something in Felix’s breath, a faint and desperate wheeze, made Sylvain gently push him back so he could look into his face.

A crease of concern formed on his brow. “Are you okay?”

Felix just nodded as he endeavoured to master himself.

“Ah, shit. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Fe.”

Felix glared at him and rasped out a single, pained word. “Stop.”

With a sigh, Sylvain pulled him back into a tender embrace and rubbed his back in long, soothing strokes until he had recovered.

“Time to get you back to bed, okay?”

Felix mumbled something that sounded like _insatiable_ , and Sylvain replied with a full-throated laugh.

“Just wait ‘til you’re healthy, I’ll show you ‘insatiable,’” he replied in a sizzling voice. Then, sterner, “For now, this is all you’re getting.”

Once they were both toweled off and dressed, Felix grudgingly allowed Sylvain to carry him back to his quarters and tuck him into bed. He drifted off to sleep in Sylvain’s arms, a peaceful smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine this in web 1.0, unreadable for all the hearts and rainbows streaming across the page


	5. Chapter 5

Sylvain could have watched Felix sleep forever. Yesterday, he thought he might have to, and had dreaded the thought. But this was different - Felix was no longer sleeping the sleep of the dead, he was simply resting, recovering from that terrible state. Now he was warm, and his chest rose and fell with breath, and sometimes he would sigh or hum or scrunch his face at some mysterious dream. It was honestly rather adorable.

He was stroking Felix’s hair and staring at his mouth in the early morning light, that lovely mouth that had kissed him, when he realized with a start that Felix’s eyes were open, and were gazing back at him, puzzled.

“You’re staring,” he said sleepily, and it almost sounded like a complaint.

“Yep,” Sylvain answered cheerfully. “Bad habit I picked up recently. I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

Felix blushed and rolled onto his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling, but Sylvain noted with a smile that he had moved his body closer to him, even as he turned away.

“How are you feeling?”

Felix’s brow furrowed, and he was quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean?” 

As was so often the case, there was a slight edge to his voice. Sylvain was confused but not surprised by his reticence. It was Felix, after all.

“I mean, how are you feeling this morning? Like, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Oh. I’m fine, I guess. Tired.” A series of weak coughs followed.

“What did you think I meant?”

Felix pressed his lips together.

“Fe. Look at me.”

He tilted his head slightly toward him, his eyes still on the ceiling. A compromise Sylvain would accept for now, as he was pretty sure he understood why Felix was suddenly acting so uncomfortable. Neither had ever been very good with _feelings_. This commonality had of course manifested in exactly opposite ways; Felix had closed himself off to the world, while Sylvain had chased after and tried on and faked as many feelings as he could in an effort to fill the void at the center of his being.

The thought of Felix shutting him out made his heart ache. He would have to tread lightly.

“What was it like, when you were under that spell?”

Felix sighed, a guarded expression on his face.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, for starters, did it hurt?”

“Not really,” he said slowly. “I was aware of being cold, and I could feel when I was being touched or moved, but I also felt kind of… separate from my body, somehow. I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“Oh, that’s... good.” He paused, thinking carefully about how to proceed. “Were you scared?”

A frown tugged at the corners of Felix’s mouth. “No, I was angry.”

Sylvain didn’t say anything. He knew Felix would explain in his own time, or not at all, and filling the silence with his own words would just make him clam up.

“All I could think was how fucking stupid it was for me to be stuck like that, fully aware but trapped in a useless body. And to hear people talking about how I might still die, and not be able to say anything. I just wanted to scream.”

He waited a minute, but Felix didn’t continue.

“Were you angry... with me?” The question came out less casually than he had meant it to. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some of his usual composure.

Felix’s head snapped over to look at him, just for a second, before he turned his intense scrutiny back toward the ceiling.

“Yes. I was.”

“And now?”

His face softened.

“No, not anymore.”

Sylvain let the silence stretch. After a while, Felix went on, voice low.

“After that girl came with the food that first night, I actually questioned my sanity. I thought for sure my mind had been affected by the spell, that maybe everything I had thought was real just... wasn’t. What you said about her… about me… it didn’t make any sense.”

Sylvain reached over and laced his fingers through Felix’s. The crease between his brows eased, and miraculously, he kept talking.

“I don’t think I believed anything else I heard or felt until when Ingrid came to tell you about the myth. It was one thing to accept that I was dreaming about you brushing my hair... but I knew my mind wasn’t that depraved, to invent a fairytale to explain how I might be cured.”

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, followed by a brief coughing fit. Sylvain squeezed his hand.

“Then I had to believe everything again, and I was… so angry, Sylvain. I didn’t understand why you were saying the things that you did. All the times you had… teased me… over the years, I knew you had to be getting some sort of sick satisfaction out of it. It didn’t make sense why you would be doing it now though. You clearly didn’t know I could hear you.”

“Fe…” Sylvain began.

Felix scowled at the ceiling. “No, don’t interrupt.”

They both fell silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was so soft that Sylvain could barely hear him.

“You asked me before if I was scared. I said I wasn’t, not for myself. The only times I was scared was when I could hear you praying. And after my father visited.” Felix finally turned to face him, inscrutable. “You hurt yourself, didn’t you?”

Sylvain’s heart skipped a beat.

“I, uh, broke my hand on your wall.”

“ _Tsk._ Idiot.” His face was pink when he turned back toward the exposed beams above.

Sylvain thought he had finally finished, but he was mistaken.

“And the way you were crying… Goddess, I thought I would die, every time I heard it.”

With that, he turned toward him fully and kissed him, so tenderly it made Sylvain dizzy.

They held each other for a long time after that, each reveling in the weight and warmth of the other’s body, in the _realness_ of their embrace. It was Felix’s growling stomach that finally pulled them apart.

“Alright, breakfast time,” Sylvain announced as he rolled out of bed and began searching for his boots. He stole a glance back at Felix, and… _was he pouting?_

Sylvain pounced back on top of him and kissed his cheek, feeling the heat rise under his lips as Felix blushed. Goddess, he could get used to this.

“I promise I’ll be right back.”

“Alright, I know,” Felix grumbled.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warned.

“I won’t.”

.

By the next morning, it was clear Felix’s strength was returning. He bolted down a hearty breakfast, then fixed impatient eyes on Sylvain.

“You have enough to eat?” Sylvain teased.

Felix ignored him. “Are you really going to make me lie here doing nothing all day again?”

“That’s kind of the point of bedrest.”

“It’s fucking boring.” A small flurry of coughs followed this declaration.

“Felix, you wound me. Does my company not satisfy you?”

“No, it doesn’t. Yesterday, you just read to me all day. It was terrible.”

Sylvain grinned. “You’re in a very fragile state, Fe. I already told you, _satisfaction_ is off the menu for now.”

Felix’s eyes glinted at him dangerously, smouldering. Too late, Sylvain realized he had just issued a challenge to perhaps the most competitive person in all of Fodlan.

Knowing he needed to put some distance between them before Felix got any ideas, he hopped up and cleared away the breakfast trays. 

“How about I see what Ingrid’s up to today? Maybe we can play cards, like old times.”

Without waiting for an answer, he darted out of the room and let out a long, slow breath. They had both been on their best behavior the day before, when Felix was truly exhausted, but he should have known it wouldn’t last. Felix was stubborn and impatient, and they both knew Sylvain would be too weak to turn him down. Felix was all he had wanted for years; how cruel that now he could have him, his conscience and better judgment were telling him to wait.

He found Ingrid in the stables a few minutes later, braiding her pegasus’ mane.

“Hey, Ingrid.”

“Oh, hey Sylvain! Felix finally get sick of you?”

He laughed. “Not exactly. Are you busy?”

“I’m almost done here, then I have some free time. What’s up?”

“You wanna come play snap with us for a while? I’m afraid Felix is on the verge of giving up bedrest as a bad job, so I’m trying to keep him occupied.”

“And he wants to play snap?”

“Of course not.”

It was Ingrid’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, okay. That sounds fun.”

She tied off the braid and led her pegasus back into his stall, then walked back toward the dormitories with Sylvain.

“So… you and Felix, huh?”

He smiled to himself, reveling in hearing someone else acknowledge their budding... relationship? Sylvain hoped that was the right word for it. He hadn’t had much success in that area before now, but he would do anything to make this last, if Felix would have him. “Yeah.”

“Finally.”

Sylvain cast her a questioning look.

“Come on, you guys have been mooning over each other for years.”

“I mean, _I_ was definitely mooning, but Felix-”

“Oh, please. You honestly never noticed how jealous he was, whenever you went off with some girl? It was really pretty obvious.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. Felix had always been critical of his exploits, but Sylvain had never guessed it was due to jealousy. Had he really been interested in him for _that_ long? There was no way. But then, there was no reason for Felix to be interested in him even now, and yet… 

Ingrid laughed at his confused expression as they climbed the dormitory stairs. “Goddess, you’re dense.”

“Heh. Maybe. Well, better late than never, I suppose.”

What Sylvain saw when he opened the door to Felix’s room made the breath catch in his throat. Felix was out of bed, leaning against the wall next to his bookshelf, hips jutting forward. His shirt was unlaced very low, his hair was loose around his shoulders, and the trace of a wolfish grin played at his lips. He tipped his head at Sylvain, tossing his hair casually, eyes burning into his. 

“That was fast. I was just picking out a book for Sylvain to read to me later.” The subtle way he emphasized certain of those words, the way he was looking at him. It was unbelievably sexy, and definitely on purpose.

“Get back in bed,” Sylvain ordered, a roughness in his tone that made Felix smirk.

He obeyed, but it was obvious that he knew who had the upper hand now. Sylvain was in trouble.

Contrary to her earlier claims of omniscience, Ingrid was apparently oblivious to all of this. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Felix, but you know you should be resting.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, what a strain, looking at a bookshelf.”

“Well, at least you’re not trying to sneak down to the training grounds. I honestly thought Sylvain would be having a harder time keeping you in line!”

Sylvain grimaced. “We’re not even halfway through the week yet.”

“Ha! Fair point. So, cards? Do you guys want tea? I could go make some before we get started.”

“No, thanks,” Sylvain answered.

“Yes, please,” Felix countered.

Ingrid’s eyebrows raised at Felix’s uncharacteristic politeness, but all she said was, “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

When she left the room, Felix turned to him, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

He sighed and plopped on the foot of the bed, as far away from him as he could get. Felix stretched languorously, pushing his feet into Sylvain’s lap, dragging a thick blanket along with him. 

Sylvain shot him a look.

“What?” Felix asked sharply.

His foot began to rub slowly up and down Sylvain’s thigh.

Sylvain dropped a heavy hand on it to make it stop.

Felix laughed low in his throat. The sound made Sylvain’s cock twitch, and he squeezed Felix’s foot very hard.

“I never knew you could be such a flirt, Fe,” he said, trying and mostly succeeding in keeping his voice even.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the helpless virgin I was back in our academy days, Sylvain.” 

Sylvain raked his eyes over Felix’s flushed face. They had been apart for long stretches of weeks and even months during the war, and of course Sylvain had noticed some changes in him over that time. He was more confident, slightly less withdrawn with people, but still essentially _Felix._ He would not have guessed that _that much_ had changed, and he felt a strange twist of jealousy and arousal rear in his gut.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Well, I never thought that you were _helpless._ ”

Felix smirked at him as Ingrid returned with their tea.

The card game was a fiasco, like it always was when they played. Sylvain had a natural gift for games, and Felix was too cutthroat to abide that, and Ingrid would get exasperated with the two of them acting like there were any real stakes involved, so before long, it devolved into petty squabbling. When they were younger, Dimitri would take on the role of good-natured mediator, but they didn’t have Dimitri now.

The third time that Felix tried to claw a card out of Sylvain’s hand, resulting in a heavy cascade of coughing and a shower of cards fluttering to the ground, Ingrid gave up.

“Sylvain, I don’t know why you thought this would be a restful activity, but I can’t in good conscience keep playing with you two. Felix is about to keel over.”

Felix managed to shoot a dirty look her way whilst coughing uncontrollably.

“This was actually fun, though. I’ve missed hanging out with you guys. Maybe we can try again later in the week?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Sylvain said. “You sure you don’t want to stay for another round?”

“No, I really do need to get going. Even if Felix could behave, it’s almost noon, and I’m meant to be on clean-up duty in the cathedral.”

As soon as she left, Sylvain busied himself with picking up wayward cards from the floor. He felt Felix’s eyes on him as he moved around the room, and the next time he passed near him, strong hands grabbed him around his thigh and pulled him down onto the bed, splayed across Felix’s lap.

“You always were the gifted grappler,” he griped as he tried to stand, but Felix had no intention of letting him up, and Sylvain worried he might set off another coughing fit if he put up too much of a struggle.

“You’re killing me, Fe. This is not what bedrest is supposed to look like.”

“So stay in bed with me for a while, and maybe I’ll rest.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” he replied, but he shifted around to lay beside him all the same.

Felix leaned in to his neck and dragged his lips softly across his skin. “Sylvain,” he said, and his voice rumbled through him like an earthquake, “Would you drop the saint act already?”

Sylvain frowned, stung. “It’s not an act.”

“And how am I supposed to take that?” Felix challenged, his mouth pausing over Sylvain’s throat.

A frustrated sigh. “Goddess, Fe. _Of course I want you._ You are three days out from being practically dead. I’m trying to make sure you keep getting better.”

“You weren’t so worried in the bathhouse the other day.”

“That was a mistake. An incredible, sexy mistake. One we should not repeat until Mercedes says you’re healthy.”

“A ‘mistake’ I survived, I might note.”

Sylvain opened his mouth to argue again, but Felix had sunk his teeth into the place where his neck met his shoulder, and all he could manage was a soft grunt.

Felix smiled into his skin. He was winning.

“ _Fuck_ , fine, come here.”

Sylvain pulled him up into a deep kiss, relenting to the powerful desire that always simmered within him, the one he had kept locked away for years. The pleasure of giving in almost overwhelmed him, it was like drowning and being saved all at once. He pushed his fingers roughly into Felix’s hair, wrapped his leg over his hip, pulled him in as close as he could. Then in one fluid motion, he rolled on top of Felix and pulled away from their kiss. Felix let out a pained wheeze, mourning the loss of it.

“You won’t be exerting yourself any more than necessary,” Sylvain commanded. “You can just lie there and rest, and let me do all the work.”

A small whine slipped from Felix’s throat. Protest, defeat, arousal.

“Will you yield?”

Felix’s blazing eyes locked onto his own. He looked ready to argue. Sylvain tugged his hair and pulled his head back, out of kissing range.

“Will you yield?” he repeated.

“Fine,” he hissed, absolutely furious.

He released his hand from Felix’s hair and leaned in for one more long, deep kiss before shifting away and beginning to undress him.

When Felix sat forward to allow his shirt to come off, he began coughing again. Sylvain rubbed his chest until he recovered, then roughly ran a calloused thumb over his nipple, eliciting a shudder. He leaned forward and began to kiss and lick his way unhurriedly down Felix’s body, stopping at the top of his straining pajama pants and fixing him with a sultry look.

Sylvain had never seen a more seductive sight than the way Felix was gazing at him, lust coloring every feature of his beautiful face. Without breaking eye contact, Sylvain leaned down and slowly brushed his mouth over the fabric covering Felix’s cock. Felix’s eyes drifted shut as his head dropped back, his breath becoming ragged.

“You like that, Fe?” Sylvain taunted. “Are you gonna lie still for me while I take your cock in my mouth?”

Felix moaned and squirmed as Sylvain ran his mouth over his clothed length again.

“I said _lie still,”_ he ordered, his voice low and forceful.

He complied, his fists balling in the sheets to anchor him. Sylvain smiled in satisfaction, then curled his fingers under the waistband of Felix’s pajamas and tugged them roughly down.

His teasing had already brought a glistening drop of pre-come to the tip of Felix’s impressive erection. Sylvain bent down and ran his tongue over it, tasting him.

“So fucking good, Fe,” he murmured, as Felix gasped at the sudden thrill of his tongue. “You taste so fucking good.”

He grasped Felix’s cock in his fist and slowly drew back the foreskin as he sunk his mouth over the sensitive head. Sylvain hummed with delight. He couldn’t count the number of times he had imagined doing this. Felix bucked at the gentle vibration in Sylvain’s mouth, and in response to this forbidden movement, Sylvain threw a heavy arm across his hips, pinning him down. He glanced up at his face, glaring to get his point across, and saw an answering scowl melt away as he ran his tongue in tight circles under the hard ridge of his glans.

Felix ran his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, experimentally. When he wasn’t reprimanded for this, he twisted the red locks around his fingers and began to guide Sylvain’s rhythm as he slid his hand and mouth up and down his shaft, sucking and licking and humming until Felix was panting. When Sylvain pulled back for a moment and just used his hand, Felix groaned, half pleasure, half complaint.

“You’re being so good, Fe,” he purred.

“ _Sylvain,”_ he hissed, a protest against the flattery, a demand for satisfaction.

He smirked and dropped his head again, this time taking Felix all the way back into his throat. It hurt a little, stretching and gagging him, but he wanted more, _needed_ it. He bobbed and swallowed, pushing deeper, and Felix was moaning, tugging his hair to keep him down, down, down. He was rocking his hips again, so Sylvain pressed his arm down harder, and this small act of domination sent Felix crashing over the edge, pulsing deep in Sylvain’s throat, his breath coming out in a stuttering cry.

Sylvain sat up and admired the lost and blissful appearance of Felix’s face, pleased with himself for being the cause of it. As he shifted to lie down next to him, Felix’s eyes suddenly came into focus, locking on to the dramatic bulge in Sylvain’s pants. A hungry look came over him, and he reached out for it, but Sylvain swatted his hands away.

“Bedrest,” he said firmly.

Felix glared at him and licked his lips, considering all his arguments.

“How bad do you want it?” Sylvain asked, a tantalizing edge to his voice.

Felix reached for him again, and was once more pushed away. He straddled Felix’s chest, careful to hold his own weight, pinning the greedy hands over his head.

“Do you wanna see what you’ll get when you’re better?”

A small, breathy moan answered, a wordless _yes_.

Sylvain used his free hand to unbutton his fly and pull his throbbing cock loose from its confines.

“You see what you do to me, Fe?” he whispered, stroking himself. “So hot for you.”

Felix’s eyes were glued to the show being put on, just inches from his face. His mouth was slack, desperate to take him in, but Sylvain stayed just out of reach. 

He let go of himself and pressed his hand against Felix’s lips. “Lick me,” he ordered, and Felix complied with a wretched sigh.

Sylvain grabbed himself again, Felix’s saliva slicking against his cock as he groaned with pleasure.

“Please _,_ ” hissed Felix, impetuous.

He leered down at him, suddenly more aroused than he had ever felt in his life.

“Are you gonna beg for it?” he taunted, stroking more furiously, pushing closer to his eager mouth.

_“Please, Sylvain.”_

A thrill, a jolt rushing through him like misfired Thoron. He hitched back, away from Felix.

“ _No,”_ he rebuked, and released his seed across Felix’s chest, spattering up onto his neck and chin.

Felix’s tongue darted out of his mouth, determined to get a taste of him. Sylvain, shattered though he was, reached out a clumsy hand and wiped his come away, shaking his head.

“I said no. You’ll have to wait till you’re all better. Something to look forward to.”

“Fuck you.” Felix’s voice was weak, but warm.

“Something else to look forward to,” he replied, a crooked smile flitting across his face.

He dragged Felix’s discarded shirt off the floor and finished wiping him clean, then kissed his forehead lazily, affectionately.

“Still hate bedrest?”

“I guess it’s not so bad,” Felix admitted, sleep starting to slur his words.

Sylvain collapsed next to him and snuggled close, suddenly feeling somber.

“We should enjoy this while it lasts, Fe. Goddess knows where we’ll be marching off to in a couple of weeks.”

Felix wrapped his arms tight around him and whispered his reply, half-delirious with fatigue.

_“Anywhere with you, Sylvain.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my awesome husband for drawing my shiny new avatar! He is so patient with my nerdy, horny hobbies.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well in these difficult times. <3


	6. Chapter 6

By the end of that first week of his recovery, Felix was practically incandescent with frustration. To his credit, he did not take his moods out on Sylvain, despite the fact that he was the one tasked with thwarting his every attempt at rebellion. Or at least, he didn’t lash out as much as everyone might have expected. Mainly he sulked, an impatient scowl his default expression.

For his part, Sylvain did his best to keep him distracted, showering him with affection until his cheeks were glowing pink with pleasure and embarrassment more often than with anger.

“I don’t care what Mercedes says. I feel fine. If she doesn’t clear me today, I’m going down to the training grounds no matter what.”

Felix had said some version of this each of the last three mornings. As always, Sylvain patiently talked him down.

“She knows how much you hate this. You’ve made it abundantly clear, Fe. I’m sure she isn’t dragging it out on purpose.”

“It’s been an entire week now. This is ridiculous. I haven’t even been coughing.”

Sylvain raised his eyebrows.

“Fine, I have  _ barely _ been coughing.”

“Just wait and see what she says, okay?”

Felix glowered at him, a sharp retort forming on his tongue, when there was a knock at the door.

Mercedes had arrived for his daily examination, and she had brought the Professor with her. Felix narrowed his eyes at this unexpected change in their routine, clearly suspicious. Byleth was incredibly busy these days, and he could think of no good reason for her to be making a social call.

“Good morning!” the healer chirped.

Felix just grunted and sat back to allow her to begin her work. Mercedes had been too polite to comment on the odd purple marks that had blossomed on his neck that week, but Byleth noticed them and turned to Sylvain with a knowing smile on her face.

“Have you had a restful week, Felix?” she asked, her eyes still on Sylvain, who was busy feigning innocence.

“Unfortunately.”

“Clearly we left you in capable hands,” she remarked, turning her gaze back to Felix. “Mercedes tells me you have made excellent progress in your recovery.”

“I feel fine. I need to get back to my training.”

Mercedes hummed out a small laugh.

“Your lungs do sound much better, so as of today, you are released from bedrest.”

Felix sat up like a shot, relief and eager anticipation all over his face.

“ _ However, _ you may not begin training exercises for another three days, and then you must start slowly.”

The excitement drained from his expression, replaced by annoyance.

“Are you kidding me? You just said my lungs are fine.”

“No, I said they sound  _ better _ . That’s not the same thing,” she replied serenely. “If you push yourself too hard, you are going to end up right back where you were. In bed. I don’t think that’s what you want, Felix.”

He scowled.

“What good will I be on the battlefield if I fall behind in my training?” he demanded.

Mercedes turned to Byleth expectantly. Suddenly it was clear why she had attended this little meeting.

“What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room,” she began. “Our next target is the Great Bridge of Myrddin. We will be deploying in two weeks. You’re sitting this one out, Felix.”

The annoyance on Felix’s face turned into a cold fury.

“You’re leaving me behind?” His voice was low, dangerous.

“You’re one of our best warriors, but you’re a liability right now. I can’t afford to have you injured again, or worse, and I can’t afford to have anyone else distracted by your current condition.” Her eyes had drifted back to Sylvain as she said this last part.

“I can be ready-”

“This is not up for debate. Follow Mercedes’ instructions, and you’ll be back on the front lines for our next campaign.”

Felix stood up suddenly. “You’re making a mistake,” he growled.

“I’m not,” she answered evenly. “I’m looking forward to having you back in our ranks, when the time is right.”

She turned and left, Mercedes following with a small, sympathetic smile.

“What the  _ fuck,” _ he spat at the closing door.

He rounded on Sylvain.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say? They’re right.”

Felix looked like he wanted to hit him. Instead, he turned and looked out the window, his ramrod straight back to Sylvain.

“Fe, use your head for a second. You’ve lost probably fifteen pounds, and you still get winded walking to the bathhouse. You’re not ready.”

Sylvain watched him slump, defeated. He hated seeing him like that, especially knowing his words were even partly responsible for it. It made his stomach twist.

“I’m sorry. I’ll help you train - slow, like Mercie said - and you’ll be kicking my ass in no time.”

“Presumptuous of you to think I couldn’t kick your ass right now anyway.”

Sylvain laughed cautiously.

“You may be right,” he allowed, then paused. “So, I know it’s not what you actually wanted to do today, but would you come down to the stables with me? Ingrid told me last night that Gilbert procured some more horses. I need to start training with a new one… I lost my mare at Ailell. Same mage that got you.”

Something brittle in his voice made Felix turn his head halfway toward him.

“You didn’t tell me- I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, I haven’t really had a chance to think about it. I was so worried about you, and…” His voice trailed off. “If you want to ride down to the valley with me, you can rest a bit while I run some exercises?”

Felix sighed. “Sounds more exciting than lying in bed again.”

Sylvain smiled and walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. “I’m gonna go get changed. Meet you back here in five minutes.”

.

Felix was reclining against the twisted trunk of a stunted oak, a few yards away from the old pack mule that had carried him into the valley. The ride down had been slow, and Sylvain’s handsome new chestnut destrier had chafed at the pace. Gilbert had called the horse Corrin. Now that they had arrived at their destination, he and Sylvain were flying back and forth across the scrubby plain, power and will coiled together as one.

The thin sunlight of early spring warmed Felix’s legs as he sat and idly braided strands of dry grass together and watched them train. Although he had never minded the company of horses, he had not taken to riding them. He was too independent, too quick-footed, too impetuous for cavalry. He would never admit it, but Sylvain’s skill on horseback left him a bit awestruck. Felix simply couldn’t imagine commanding another living being with such trust and confidence. He preferred to rely on his own strength and wits, but a small part of him envied Sylvain this talent.

After their next circuit around the valley, Sylvain pulled Corrin up short, relaxing his grip on a stout wooden lance, man and beast both breathing heavily from the exertion. Felix couldn’t help smiling at the open, happy expression on Sylvain’s face. He was clearly in his element.

“Slacking off already?” he asked wryly.

Sylvain laughed heartily. “No, actually. I have a surprise for you.”

Felix raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“Look in your pannier. Left bag.”

He pawed at the pile of tack on the ground next to him, orienting himself to its left side. He opened the satchel and grinned broadly. Throwing knives.

“Just don’t tell Mercedes,” Sylvain intoned.

“Are you crazy?” Felix replied. He looked up at him with something like adoration on his face. “Thank you.”

Sylvain’s heart soared at his expression. He dug his heels into his stallion’s flanks and took off again as Felix stood, testing the weight and balance of the first dagger.

An hour later, Sylvain dismounted to take a break. The oak tree was oozing fragrant sap from dozens of small wounds, and Felix actually looked downright cheerful.

“Can I sit?” Sylvain gestured toward the tree trunk, still catching his breath.

Felix set down the knife he was holding and pulled two others out of the wood, to give Sylvain somewhere more comfortable to rest.

The two men collapsed next to each other, leaning against the tree, legs and shoulders pressed together.

“Hungry?” Felix asked.

“Starving.”

Felix pulled out the bundle of sandwiches they had packed and handed half of them to Sylvain. He began to wolf his down immediately, but Felix unwrapped his slowly. It was clear something was on his mind, but Sylvain knew better than to push.

“You look really good out there, you know.” Felix’s voice was low, almost shy.

Sylvain almost choked. “If I had known I could buy your affection with daggers, I would have done so years ago,” he teased.

Felix blushed, furrowing his brow. “Never mind.”

Sylvain set his sandwich in his lap and looked over at him. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I’m just not used to you being… You’re the one who’s good at training and stuff. It’s weird to get a compliment from you about that. Weird, and nice.” He gave him a lopsided grin and returned to his sandwich, pretending not to see the embarrassed smile on Felix’s face.

.

Late that afternoon, Sylvain finally finished up in the stables. He had stayed behind to groom Corrin and the mule, while Felix went back to the dormitories to get clothes for them both to change into after their own bath.

When Sylvain approached Felix’s quarters, he was surprised to hear raised voices.

“-wasting your time with a savage beast-”

“-he is to be your king! And you his right hand-”

“-nothing but a boar, a blood-thirsty animal!”

“How you can speak that way about Faerghus’ only hope-”

“If  _ he _ is our only hope, we are all doomed!”

Felix’s door flew open, and there was Rodrigue, fuming with anger. He spared Sylvain only the briefest of glances, a shadow of puzzlement crossing his outraged face as he rushed past him.

Sylvain tentatively stepped through the open doorway.

“Fe?”

He was standing in front of his window again, rigid and motionless, his face in shadow. Sylvain crossed the room to stand beside him, but he didn’t touch him. They remained there in silence for several minutes, staring out at the encroaching dusk.

Finally, softly, Sylvain spoke up. “Come on Fe, we need to wash up.”

He gently took his elbow and led him down to their favored private room in the bathhouse, pausing only to pick up the stack of clothing that Felix had earlier set next to his door.

They undressed without a word. Once they were in the water, Sylvain wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his lap. Felix relaxed slightly, but still said nothing.

Sylvain slipped a tentative hand up to his neck, and pushed his fingers into his hair. Felix leaned into the touch, permission silently granted.

He carefully poured water over Felix’s hair, then built a rich lather between his hands. He took his time, applying slow, even pressure to his scalp, feeling the tension begin to ease in him. He combed his fingers through slippery tangles, smoothing every snag down to silk.

Finally, Felix sighed, and dipped underwater to rinse off.

When they got back to Felix’s quarters, Sylvain hesitated in the hall. He had spent every night since Ailell in Felix’s bed, but he wasn’t sure whether he was welcome tonight. Without turning to look at him, Felix tugged him into the room, and relief flooded Sylvain’s heart.

He climbed into bed next to him, feeling suddenly very tired. Felix dropped his head onto his chest and lay perfectly still, breath shallow and anxious.

“Felix,” Sylvain whispered. “I love you.”

He felt Felix sigh raggedly as he buried his face into his damp hair. They held each other for a long time before sleep finally found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has always felt at ease with horses because they accept him as he is. The only human who makes him feel that way is Felix, so it's no wonder he forms such deep bonds with them. He was really devastated by the loss of his mare, but he never really had time to mourn her because of everything else that happened. Poor guy.
> 
> I can't believe we're at the halfway mark. War comes at you fast...


	7. Chapter 7

Weakness had always been Felix’s greatest fear. He had trained relentlessly for years, transforming himself into the ultimate weapon, to ensure he would never feel powerless in any situation. But as the Lone Moon wore on and his training once more progressed, he only grew more disgusted with himself. His body was failing him. Although he grew stronger each day, the unsteadiness he still felt in his movements, the way he sometimes couldn’t catch his breath, the absolute _powerlessness_ he experienced when a blow didn’t land the way he intended, all kept him up at night. Sylvain would often wake in the wee hours and find Felix standing across the room, staring out his window, and have to coax him back into bed. He suspected this was happening more than he realized, as dark circles shadowed Felix’s eyes, and his silent brooding only intensified as the march to Myrddin drew nearer.

Sylvain spent most days training, too. At first, Ingrid teased him about his newfound dedication. He had never been known to do more than the bare minimum, but now he was nearly always by Felix’s side in the arena, or out riding Corrin, doing all he could to prepare for the upcoming battle. When she noticed the naked concern with which he regarded Felix, her comments stopped. She understood then that he wasn’t training for his own enjoyment or ego; it was guilt and fear driving him now. It scared her to see them both so vulnerable, but she was glad at least that Sylvain was finally taking something seriously.

When Felix would grow too tired or frustrated to continue with his sword, he would practice his magic. It had never been his favored way to do battle, but right now he was desperate for a win, for a sense that anything he was trying would be enough to survive. So he and Sylvain would take turns firing off spells at piles of stones, competing to see whose would scatter them farthest.

Sylvain disliked this part of helping Felix train. He did have an aptitude for Reason, but it always felt wrong when he channeled its dark power. Like running your bare hand against wood grain, and getting splinters. And though he loathed to admit it to himself, the encounter at Ailell had made him hate magic. He knew it made no sense - he did not hate his lance, and he had seen countless men fall to enemy spears. Perhaps that would be different if a lance had been what had so badly injured Felix, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t like thinking about it.

As if these misgivings weren’t enough to distract him, Byleth had given them their orders that morning. Their forces would be marching tonight, a couple of hours after their evening meal, counting on the darkness to hide their movements. They would make camp along the riverbed late the next morning, and seize the Great Bridge of Myrddin when night fell again.

He struggled to focus on the task at hand, forming the sigil to call the fire. In his mind, he saw glittering ice, a pale figure rising through the air. He jerked his head to clear the image. _No, Bolganone._

The stones glowed white hot and jumped across the arena, his spell having hit its mark. His hand tingled like it had after the Professor had healed his broken bones. He shook it out and turned away from the target, only to find himself facing Felix’s angry glare.

“What?” he snapped, already feeling defensive to the coming criticism.

“You mastered Bolganone years ago. Those rocks should have been vaporized.”

He shrugged and bent down to tug at the lightweight leather greaves he wore for training, trying to hide the mask that fell over his face, seemingly against his will.

“You know I’m not cut out to be a Dark Knight, Fe. I’m too honest.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“Always been better with a lance, anyway,” he finished, with a wry grin.

“Quit fucking around, Sylvain. Do it again.”

Sylvain stood and glared down at him. Without turning, he whipped his arm back and felt the sigil form perfectly, the fire scraping through his veins and across the hall in a deadly vortex. He could feel the stones behind him crack and turn to ash under his power. 

Felix’s eyes dropped from his gaze to the small smouldering crater behind him. His brow furrowed, confusion and temper at war on his face.

“I’ve had enough for today. I’m going down to the stables. See you at dinner.” Sylvain’s hard expression brooked no argument.

Felix watched him retreat with an empty feeling in his chest. For all his skill at pretending, Sylvain had rarely been able to fool Felix with his performances. Usually, he could see through him, understand what he was trying to hide… with the notable exception of his long-hidden feelings for Felix, of course. He supposed his own fears had clouded his judgment on that topic, so he didn’t really consider it a factor in his overall sense of knowing Sylvain’s mind better than anyone else.

Sylvain’s behavior this afternoon unnerved him because he could not see what it served. Worse, he knew he would be too cowardly to ask him directly what exactly he was playing at. It felt like it sat too close to the heart of those things that Felix feared most, that whatever it was might lie firmly in the territory of things like _love_ and _emotional intimacy_ , although he couldn’t see precisely how. It was maddening.

With a surge of something that wasn’t just anger, Felix blasted apart the last pile of rocks with a powerful Thoron.

“Well done,” remarked Ingrid, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. He had allowed himself to become distracted, and had not heard her approach.

“Thank you.” His tone was clipped, unwelcoming of conversation.

As she so often did, Ingrid ignored the hint, and went right ahead talking.

“I saw Sylvain leaving a minute ago. He looked like he was in a mood.”

Felix grunted. What did she want him to say?

“He’s been training hard the past couple of weeks.”

“Yes.”

“He’s worried about you.”

Felix scoffed at her.

“In case you forgot, I won’t be joining you for this campaign. He needs to worry about himself.”

She shook her head at him, a dry laugh falling from her lips.

“This battle will not end the war, Felix. What about next time?”

He frowned at the crater Sylvain had left in the floor.

“I can take care of myself.”

He felt her lightly touch his shoulder.

“Do you think he’d find that sentiment reassuring? In _any_ sense?”

“What’s your point?” he snapped.

Her hand dropped, and in his peripheral vision, he saw her shrug.

“I don’t know. We’re all under so much pressure these days… maybe you could ease up on him a little.”

Felix rubbed his forehead wearily.

“Is that all?”

She sighed.

“If I don’t see you before we leave tonight...”

He looked up at her, the frustration in his face dissipating.

“You’ll be fine, Ingrid.”

“Will you?”

“I will- I am.”

“Okay, Felix. See you.”

“See you.”

He needed to take a walk, to clear his head before dinner, before saying good-bye to Sylvain. He quickly swept the floor as smooth as he could around where they had been training, and took off into the gathering dusk, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

The last time he had felt this untethered was when Glenn had died. It was as though he was only capable of feeling so much before he shut down altogether. When he had lost Glenn, it was the grief that sent him into that abyss, and Sylvain who had dragged him back. Now he was facing a dozen different feelings, all complicated and overwhelming, and not all unwelcome, but he felt like he was teetering on the edge of that pit again.

It would all be so much easier if he could go and fight. He was a man of action, and the impotence he felt at being left behind made everything else so much harder to bear.

Mainly, there was the fear. There were the familiar fears, about Dimitri’s madness and the future of Faerghus and his own place in this crumbling world. Now he was also afraid he would never be as strong as he was before, that he had lost a part of himself to the Fimbulvetr forever, and what good would he be if that were so?

And worse than that, as though anything could be worse than being weak and powerless, he was afraid that Sylvain would leave for Myrddin and never come back. They had both fought in dozens of battles, together and apart, but he had never felt fear like this before. He had never let himself. He didn’t want to let himself now, but there was that other fear in him too, the one that licked at the edges of a different feeling, something tender and raw and absolutely bottomless that he couldn’t stand to face.

He felt like a fool. He had always preferred to be alone, but even when he was alone, there was always Sylvain. It made no sense, and it terrified him because he realized that there was no going back, he could not extricate Sylvain from his heart even if he had wanted to. He was a part of him, as surely as his own eyes and skin and blood.

He stood outside the stables, his mind no clearer than when he had left the training grounds. As the last light faded from the sky, Sylvain ambled outside, his head down.

“Hey,” Felix said, just loud enough for him to hear.

Sylvain looked up, clearly surprised to see him. Something in Felix ached to realize that he hadn’t expected him to come looking for him. He took a deep breath, absorbing that pain, knowing he had earned no better after years of keeping him at arm’s length. Closer than anyone else, perhaps, but still always sharp-tongued, aloof.

“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you before. You’re leaving tonight, and… I’m upset. I’m sorry.”

Sylvain smiled cautiously and stepped closer to him. “No, I was being an idiot. Or maybe we both were. I’m sorry, too.”

Another fear Felix had felt bubbling in his chest retreated, for now. He hadn’t driven him away. He reached out and grabbed Sylvain’s hands, lacing their fingers together, pulling him close.

“You’re coming back,” Felix said earnestly, forcing himself to look into Sylvain’s soft brown eyes.

“I’m coming back,” he agreed. “I love you.”

“Sylvain…” he whispered, his voice pained.

Sylvain kissed him, all sweetness and understanding, so much more than he deserved.

Still, when he spoke again, his eyes were closed, to hide whatever emotion they might betray. “I know, Fe.”

.

Dinner had been a somber affair, marked by averted eyes and forks scraping across plates and little conversation. Something about departing under cover of darkness made it difficult for anyone to muster the usual spirit of camaraderie and determination they carried into battle. They would need to conserve their energy anyway, to march through the night, ever alert for ambush.

Before he knew it, Felix was alone in his room, stomach roiling with anxiety and regret. He stared out his window for almost an hour, watching the remaining sliver of the Lone Moon rise, trying and failing to think of anything but the growing ranks of fears that took up so much space within him. At last, he gave up and went to the baths, anything to distract himself from his racing mind and empty bed.

A grimace crossed his face as he ran soapy fingers through his hair. His own hands were not skilled enough to release the tension he had hoped to wash away, and once again, he felt Sylvain’s absence keenly. 

_Pathetic,_ he thought. _He's been gone an hour, and I can barely wash my own hair. Snap out of it, Fraldarius._

He told himself the stinging in his eyes was just soap, and he flung the bar away with a low, guttural roar that echoed across the tile. 

He did not linger.

Back in his quarters again, he rummaged about for something with which to occupy himself, something to divert attention from the ceaseless dread gnawing in his gut. He settled on a dry tome on Fodlan’s political dynasties, history that had been drilled into his head since childhood. The words on the page slipped through his mind like water through well-worn channels. It was utterly pointless, and after a while, strangely relaxing.

The Ten Elites, Nemesis, the Church. His eyes were growing heavy. 

King Lambert, Prince Dimitri, Duscur. He blinked rapidly.

The Imperial bloodline, Ionius IX, the Insurrection of the Seven... Aegir. He fell into restless dreams.

.

_Felix was twenty, and he was on a scouting mission in Imperial territory. Rumors had reached the resistance of military activity in Remire Village, which had been abandoned over two years prior, after the terrible calamity that had killed so many of its citizens. Felix’s speed and stealth would allow him to slip in to enemy territory through Magdred Way, see if the rumors were true, and perhaps find out why the Empire was suddenly so interested in Remire again._

_Nobody would say it aloud, but there was hope that perhaps Rhea or Byleth might be found there. After almost two years with no news of either woman, it was hard to imagine they were being held in this tiny ruined village, but Felix was not one to turn down a mission. Especially not one he could complete alone._

_It took him two nights to reach Remire from the resistance camp east of Gaspard. The terrain was inhospitable, and he travelled on foot, mostly in the dark. He had been fortunate to be able to stick to the roads, as the Empire had little presence this close to the ruins of Garreg Mach._

_He approached Remire just before dawn, walking softly, dagger in hand. It was deserted, the rumors false. For a few indulgent minutes, he stood in the center of the village, turning in slow circles, remembering the chaos of the battle he had once fought in this place. The Professor had truly cared about the people who lived here, and had been devastated by the number of casualties. Then there was the shock of Tomas, the monastery’s librarian, being behind the massacre. It all seemed so long ago now. A different age._

_The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and Felix had just decided to find cover for the day before undertaking the long journey back to camp, when he heard distant hoofbeats. He withdrew into deep shadow, following the sound back to horse and rider, approaching from the south._

_A glint of red hair, and Felix’s heart was in his throat. What was he doing here? He hadn’t seen Sylvain for over three months, and last he had heard, he had been dispatched to Sreng- But no, he knew immediately that he had been mistaken. The man was too slight, the hair too coppery, the horse all wrong. Felix suddenly recognized the mysterious interloper, and his lip curled involuntarily with hatred._

_The knight dismounted and stood against a half-collapsed building, apparently to relieve himself. He came up behind him silently, so when he turned back around he was caught completely off guard by both Felix and the dagger at his throat._

_“Von Aegir,” he growled, voice dripping with disdain._

_Ferdinand’s eyes went wide, and Felix could see his mind racing, no doubt trying to figure out a way to weasel out of this situation._

_“F-Felix! What are you doing here?” His voice was bright, trying for friendly._

_He stepped closer to him, a challenge. “I’m the one with the blade. You tell me why you’re here.”_

_“I was merely passing through.”_

_Felix pressed the edge of his dagger more insistently into Ferdinand’s neck, pushing him back against the wall._

_“I am an envoy to House Rowe!” he blurted._

_Felix shook his head in disgust, his eyes fixed on the red hair splayed against the bricks. “What am I going to do with you?”_

_To his utter shock, Ferdinand reached up a steady hand and stroked his cheek._

_“Anything you would like,” he answered, his tone pompous, sugared._

_Goosebumps broke out across his flesh. A strange brew of revulsion and arousal churned in his stomach. He drew back his dagger and with the hilt heavy in his fist, he punched Ferdinand in the jaw as hard as he could. He landed facedown, his red hair fanning over his face, hiding his features. Felix shivered at the sight._

_Within minutes, Felix was riding away on Ferdinand’s horse at full speed, leaving the man unconscious and tied up in the ruins of Remire’s church. It would be no good trying to travel in darkness now. He needed to get back to base quickly, and warn everyone that Rowe had turned on Faerghus._

_Traveling by horse was much faster, and he reached the camp just after midnight, practically delirious with exhaustion and the disturbing thoughts that had plagued him the entire journey back. Why hadn’t he killed Ferdinand? Taking him captive would have slowed him down, put him in too much danger on the road back. Leaving him behind was a liability, one that would be difficult to explain. As much as he loathed taking a life, it would have been the sensible thing to do. They were at war, after all. And why had he been so turned on when Ferdinand had propositioned him? He had always despised the pretentious, power-hungry noble, all the more so since he defected with Edelgard. The answers were burned into his mind, but he refused to acknowledge them. Red hair, warm brown eyes… all wrong, an eerie echo, a distraction._

_The next day was a whirlwind of debriefings and hasty plans to send messengers north, to warn the other houses of Rowe’s treachery. Felix had fulfilled his duties in a state of preoccupation, his mind still restless with thoughts of red hair and a soft glove on his face. Finally, at dusk, he escaped to the small lake near camp, clear and still warm from the day’s sun._

_He stripped off his armor and left his clothes in a neat pile at the base of a tree before sinking into the shallows with a sigh. Floating on his back, his mind began to wander again to thoughts of violence and lust, absence and need. His cock twitched, growing heavy under the weight of his reverie._

_A gentle splash interrupted his contemplations, and Felix pulled himself quickly upright in the water, looking around for the source of the intrusion. About fifteen feet away, another man was half-submerged in the lake, regarding Felix with a curious smile. Felix stared back at him, unabashed._

_The man’s silvery hair glowed in the moonlight, droplets of water gleaming against dark skin, taut across bulging muscles. Felix drank in the vision before him, so different from the ones that had been playing across his mind only moments ago._

_“Am I interrupting?” a rumbling voice inquired. An accent, from Duscur._

_Felix met the man’s gaze, green-black and amused, interested. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed before he answered, his voice husky._

_“Not at all.”_

_They swam in wide circles around each other, Felix’s eyes following his every movement, the stranger peering back as each orbit brought them closer, until they were almost touching._

_“I’m Anhur,” he said, his breath whispering tobacco and cardamom against Felix’s cheek._

_“Felix,” he answered, a thrill running down his spine._

_Anhur smiled and swam away from him, climbing back onto shore. He looked at Felix expectantly, eyebrows raised in invitation, and he followed him, drawn like a magnet to the attractive stranger, his body aching for touch and pleasure and release._

_Back in the man’s tent, he found the comfort his body sought. Anhur’s large, rough hand clamped over his mouth to keep him quiet as he filled him, exquisite sensations he had never before experienced. As each thrust brought him closer to bliss, intense green eyes bore into his, unnerving and electrifying him. Anhur shifted, hitting a tight cluster of nerves deep inside, and Felix could take no more._

_He saw stars, and cinnamon brown eyes, all warmth and laughter and spice._

_Later, alone in his own bedroll, Felix lay awake and wondered. He still felt the ghosts of Anhur’s hands on him, the weight of his body, but all he saw in his mind was Sylvain. A hopeless feeling washed over him as he realized how terribly alone he felt. The one person he truly wanted would never be his._

.

Felix woke up with a start, his heart twisting in his chest, the dream and all its attendant regrets still clear in his mind. There had been others like Anhur over the years, distractions between battles, temporary relief from the loneliness that was so tightly woven into the fibers of his being. Whenever he had seen Sylvain in those days, his cheeks would burn hot as he remembered all the times he had gotten off to thoughts of his body, his smile, his eyes. Sylvain would tease him mercilessly for his blushing, then turn around and chase after someone else, leaving him feeling so, so empty.

What Felix feared most in the world was weakness. After years of longing, he finally had everything he wanted, but he was still too weak to tell Sylvain that he loved him. He wondered if he would ever find the strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I super identify with Felix (does that make me bitchy?), but yikes switching to his POV for this chapter was hard after writing Sylvain for so long


	8. Chapter 8

Sylvain was tired. He had been away from Garreg Mach for two nights - one for marching, one for battle - and he’d had precious little sleep in that time. When the monastery finally came into view, he straightened in his saddle and urged Corrin on. One last push to get back… _ home? _ No, that wasn’t quite right.  _ To Felix. _

His nerves had been jangling since Myrddin. The battle had been a success. Sylvain had never fought better, thanks to all the training he had been putting in over the previous weeks, and his determination to get back to Felix. But the longer he fought it, this war only seemed to get harder. He took no joy in killing, especially not people he once knew and called friends. He never wanted the killing to become easy, but sometimes he wished it could be just a little less devastating.

He dismounted when they reached the main gates, and patted Corrin with a heavy hand, crooning tonelessly in his ear. “You did so good, Cor. Almost time to rest now.”

The horse snorted at him, impatient for the promise of respite and fresh hay. As they rounded the corner to the stables, Sylvain’s heart caught in his throat.  _ There he was _ . In the dim light of the new Great Tree Moon, his hair looked almost blue, his skin glowing pale and smooth as he leaned stiffly against a hitching rail, fingers idly twitching at the pommel of the sword strapped to his hip. Waiting for him, and so beautiful.

Felix looked up when they were still several yards away, pulled from his thoughts by some unknown force, searching him out in the small crowd by the stable doors. His grim face softened when he saw him, and despite his exhaustion and the weight of his melancholy, Sylvain responded with a small, warm smile.

The distance between them closed quickly. Sylvain pulled him in close, and was momentarily rendered breathless by the crushing force of Felix’s embrace. Then just like that, Felix jumped away with a yelp, rubbing his backside and glaring at Corrin.

“Dastard bit me!” he complained.

“Aw, he missed you,” Sylvain chuckled, weary. 

“Doubt that.”

“He’s just cranky. Let me put him up, don’t go anywhere.”

Felix raised his eyebrows at the mere suggestion, and Sylvain hurried to pass Corrin off to a stable hand, tasked with working late to assist the returning knights.

Moments later, they were walking side by side toward the bath house, after making a quick detour by the dormitories for fresh clothes. Sylvain had been among the first soldiers to return, a benefit of being cavalry, and the baths were still almost deserted. 

His hands were steady as he removed his armor, but the crease on his brow betrayed his troubled mind. When he turned to get into the water, Felix was standing before him, piercing amber eyes searching his, concerned.

“You okay? You seem… tense.”

“Oh. I’m mostly just tired.”

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t pry. It wasn’t in his nature. He stepped into the water and held out his hand to pull Sylvain in after him. They settled into a comfortable position, Felix sitting with his legs draped across his lap, head leaning on his shoulder, hand resting on his chest. Sylvain closed his eyes and focused on his breath, trying to ground himself to Felix’s touch.

“I, uh,” he started uncertainly, his voice low. “I killed Ferdinand last night.”

Felix went very still. “Oh,” he breathed.

“Yeah.”

Felix pulled back slightly, looking up at him with an inscrutable expression on his face. He took a deep breath, then wrapped his arms around his neck and just held him for a minute. Sylvain buried his face in his hair, relieved to have spoken aloud the terrible thing he had had to do.

“He was a real prick,” Sylvain finally said, his voice muffled.

He felt Felix smile against his shoulder.

“He really was.” And then, softer, “I’m sorry.”

The tension in Sylvain’s chest was finally easing. Felix understood. He hadn’t been afraid of his judgment, but he realized now how badly he needed this comfort, this intimacy. A wave of gratitude swept through him, and he reached down to lift Felix’s chin, capturing his mouth in a gentle kiss.

“Can I wash your hair?” he asked quietly.

In answer, Felix turned around, putting himself in easy reach of Sylvain’s eager hands. It was hard to tell who enjoyed this ritual more, as strong fingers pressed expertly into receptive scalp, each seeking solace in the other. When the last bit of soap was rinsed away, Felix turned back and brushed their lips together, tentatively at first, waiting for Sylvain to take the lead and deepen the kiss.

All of the adrenaline that had been coursing through Sylvain’s body the last couple of days suddenly had a new, happier purpose. He pressed his mouth desperately against Felix’s, running his tongue against his teeth and wrapping his fingers lightly around his neck. Felix moaned against him, and to Sylvain’s surprise, he was suddenly the one being pushed back by the force of their kiss.

Felix clambered up onto Sylvain’s lap, straddling him and grabbing his face in both hands, kissing him like the world was ending, because maybe it was. He pulled his mouth sloppily across his cheek, biting at his neck and shoulder, as Sylvain sat with his back against the side of the bath, gasping. Without warning, strong, sure hands grabbed him by the waist and lifted him from the water, setting him back down on the edge of the sunken tub. Felix’s mouth continued its unflagging journey down his body, one arm pressing him back insistently, until Sylvain found himself propped back on his elbows, watching in amazement as his throbbing cock was skillfully swallowed down.

Sylvain had the mad, fleeting thought that his body was a symphony, and every instrument had begun playing at once, in perfect tune. But then there was no room for thought in his head, and all he could do was ride out the pleasure as Felix devoured him, sucking, licking, and gagging with sublime dedication as his dark hair fanned out in waves across the surface of the water. His breath came ragged, and he had to close his eyes to block the overwhelming vision of what Felix was doing to him, before it brought him undone altogether.

Something was bumping into his shin, and it was only when Felix moaned into him that he realized that he was jerking himself off under the water. His eyes snapped back open, and the sight of Felix’s beautiful, frantic face bobbing over him as his arm moved furiously below, pulled another groan from his lips.

“Goddess, Fe,” he growled, barely sounding human. “Never seen anything so- Fuck- Felix-”

With a strangled shout, he came into Felix’s keening throat. Within seconds, Felix’s shoulders were shuddering and quaking as he stroked out the last of his own orgasm.

In one easy motion, Felix sat up and pulled him carefully back into the warm water, curling into his chest and breathing heavily. Sylvain felt delightfully numb, his mind empty and his body buzzing as he wrapped his arms tight around him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was- You are amazing.”

Felix pressed his lips up into his jaw and shivered slightly, his breath hitching. Sylvain pulled away and looked down at him, worry etched on his face.

“You’re okay?”

Felix scowled at him, but his eyes were gentle, raw. “I’m just glad you’re back. I… missed you.”

Sylvain’s heart soared in his chest and he pulled him back close, kissing his forehead.

“I missed you too, Fe,” he murmured. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He felt a happy sigh against his neck, and realized with regret that his eyes were getting heavy.

“Need to go to bed though, sweetheart.”

“You can come back to my room with me, if you don’t call me that ever again.”

Sylvain laughed sleepily and began to climb out of the water.

“Alright, sweetheart. Your room it is.”

.

When they walked into the dining hall the next morning, Felix froze in his tracks.

“You didn’t tell me Dedue… he’s alive?”

Sylvain smiled guiltily. “Yeah, sorry, I was pretty out of it last night. Apparently he’s been out there this whole time, looking for Dimitri. He showed up in the middle of the battle, threw us all for a loop. Dimitri was… well for a minute, he was almost Dimitri again.”

Felix pressed his mouth into a flat line. Dedue looked over at them then, still standing near the doorway. He and Felix exchanged curt nods.

Sylvain dragged him by the elbow toward the buffet line, stomach growling.

“Maybe he can help him, you know?” Sylvain went on hopefully, casting a sidelong glance at Felix’s stormy face.

“The Boar is beyond help. I pity Dedue if he thinks his service can somehow save him.” He laughed darkly, then bit his lip. “I am glad he is alive. He is a good man, even if he is a fool.”

Felix remained broody throughout breakfast, and Sylvain knew better than to try to draw him out. Dimitri had long been a sore subject between them, and Dedue’s return had doubtless triggered some strange mixture of guilt and anger in Felix, even if Sylvain couldn’t fully wrap his head around the reasoning. Instead of trying to talk about it, he kept his hand on Felix’s knee under the table, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb as he ate. Felix made no comment, and did not swat him away, so he figured whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t insurmountable.

They parted ways after they finished eating, Sylvain wanting to make sure his horse had been properly looked after the night before, while Felix headed in the direction of the training grounds. Corrin was in a spirited mood when Sylvain approached his stall, his long head pushing forward into his chest, nosing for the lumps of sugar stashed in his pocket.

“Hey, Corrin,” he crooned. “You have a one-track mind, don’t you?”

He held out sugar on the flat of his palm, letting the greedy horse scarf it down before he stepped around him to begin inspecting his hoofs. The stable hands had done a good job grooming him, and he had plenty of water and fresh feed. Satisfied, he stayed and petted and chatted with Corrin for a few minutes, running his fingers through his coarse mane, then over the velvet of his muzzle. He tried to keep his mind on the present, to block out the worry creeping in at the edges of his thoughts, but all he could think about was the look on Felix’s face during breakfast. Finally, he gave the last of his sugar to Corrin and departed for the training grounds.

When he reached the arena’s entrance, he was surprised to hear that all was quiet within. He pulled the door open slowly, then did a double-take. There was a slender, dark-haired man staring at the weapon rack, but it was not Felix. It was Rodrigue. He was alone, apparently lost in thought.

Sylvain turned to leave, but Rodrigue had noticed him.

“Master Gautier.”

“Lord Fraldarius.”

The older man’s mouth twitched, a sad smile.

“Might I have a word?”

Sylvain bowed his head in acquiescence, and walked over to meet him by the swords. For a few moments, the men both gazed at the weapons like they were the most interesting things they had ever seen, not a word passing between them. Sylvain shifted uncomfortably, trying to imagine what Felix’s father could possibly want with him.

“I came here looking for my son,” he finally said.

“Ah.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I actually was looking for him myself. He’s usually here.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he.”

They lapsed back into momentary silence.

“Dimitri is not well,” he finally continued.

Sylvain nodded cautiously, trying to decide how he felt about where this conversation was headed. “We can only hope he returns to his senses soon, my lord.”

“Felix does not think he will.”

Rodrigue had turned to Sylvain, watching his reaction to this.

“No, he… Felix realized a long time ago that this would happen. Before anyone else knew. He wants Dimitri back more than anyone, I think.” Sylvain bit his tongue, not sure if he had shared too much, if it had even made sense.

The man’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Perhaps you are right. All I get from him is anger and accusations. I had not thought… He is so stubborn.”

Sylvain laughed. “He is.”

“You spend a lot of time with him, do you not? I have not seen him away from your side much since I came to Garreg Mach.”

Sylvain now turned as well, so the two were fully facing one another.

“Yes, we’re… close,” he answered carefully. He and Felix had not been subtle about their affection, and he was sure that word traveled. He braced himself for Rodrigue’s reaction.

“I am glad. I suppose he deserves his happiness in the midst of all this sorrow.”

Sylvain blinked.

“When you do find him, would you kindly tell him…” he trailed off, and smiled wistfully at the swords again. “It is not important. Good day, Master Gautier.”

They bowed to one another, and Rodrigue swept out of the arena.

Sylvain let out a long breath.

_ Goddess, what the fuck was that? _

He walked uncertainly from the training grounds, wondering where to go next. He still wanted to find Felix, but it felt like the weight of whatever had just passed between him and Rodrigue was slowing his pace, making it impossible to rush on to his next destination, wherever that may be. He decided he would walk a circuit of the monastery, and began meandering toward the dormitories. 

Felix’s room was empty, like he expected it to be. Loner though he was, he didn’t spend much time lingering in his quarters if he could help it. Sylvain turned over the possibilities in his mind. It was too early for lunch. Perhaps he had needed something from the marketplace. It was as good of a place as any to look, so he headed in that direction, wondering idly if the eastern merchant would have any Almyran Pine Needles in stock. It was Felix’s favorite blend, and the kitchens never had any on hand.

A few minutes later, he left the market with a fat sachet of tea hanging from his belt, once again deep in thought. He continued his circuit, wandering past the stables, when a prim but kind voice caught his attention.

“Ah, Sylvain! Have you come to visit with Corrin? He is such a lovely horse.”

He smiled at Flayn, who was just then walking out of the barn. “Nah, I already spoiled him plenty this morning. I’m actually looking for Felix right now.”

“I saw him in the cathedral three quarters of an hour ago. Strange, isn’t it? I have never thought him particularly devout.”

Sylvain frowned. “Yeah, that is a little unusual.”

“I hope you will not interrupt his prayers, if he remains there still,” she chided.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, kiddo. Thanks for the lead. See you later, okay?”

A small pout twisted her face. “I would remind you that I am not a child, Sylvain. Good luck in your search.”

“Right, sorry, Flayn. Thanks again.”

Sylvain had never known Felix to enter the cathedral willingly. It’s not that he was an atheist, exactly, more that he chafed under the authority of the Church, with all its particular ideals and morals. It was like how he was a knight who held chivalry in disdain. He had no need of anyone else’s rules and expectations; Felix was an entity unto himself.

So whatever praying Felix might sometimes do, Sylvain doubted it would be under the crumbling roof of what used to be the Church’s greatest monument. That left only one other point of interest there, as far as he could tell.  _ Dimitri _ . Sylvain quickened his pace, all thoughts of his conversation with Rodrigue leaving his mind. Dimitri was dangerous. He could only hope that Felix had not provoked his wrath, and was not now dying on the floor of the holy ruins.

Sylvain’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the strangeness of the cathedral. It was a study of contrasts, half covered in shadow, half bleached by the stark light of the late morning sun. Dimitri stood still as a statue right on the edge of the darkness, alone. Sylvain squinted, looking for any sign of Felix, but saw only Dedue sitting in the front pew, maintaining vigil over his lord. Relief washed over him like a wave.

He walked softly up the aisle, peering into the alcoves as he went. Dedue had turned his head slightly at his approach, and Sylvain caught his eye. “Felix?” he mouthed, eyebrow cocked.

Dedue nodded toward the large door at the east. Sylvain smiled his thanks and hurried on, casting a wary glance at Dimitri as he passed him. He was muttering to himself, eyes fixed on something only he could see.

Back outside, Sylvain blinked in the bright light. Once his vision cleared again, he saw that the wide walkway was deserted. He sighed. Felix had probably left before he got here. Just as he was about to give up and head back to the training grounds, a bizarre thought made him pause.  _ The hayloft. _ Unbidden, his legs carried him to the foot of the Goddess Tower.

He took a deep breath and climbed to the top. There, leaning against a decaying parapet, stood Felix. He was gazing out over the mountains, idly scratching the ears of an affectionate orange tabby cat.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Sylvain said casually as he leaned next to him.

Felix might have smiled, it was hard to tell.

“How did you find me?”

Sylvain shrugged. “Flayn said she saw you at the cathedral. You weren’t there, so I decided to check the hayloft.”

He snorted at that. “The hayloft? Goddess, that was a long time ago.”

“Some things never change.”

They both stared out across the Oghmas, a comfortable silence stretching between them. The cat sauntered over to Sylvain, sniffed him scornfully, then turned back to Felix. He shoved his head into his hand, purring loudly.

“Cute cat. Should I be jealous?”

“No, I don’t like redheads. You have nothing to worry about.”

Sylvain threw his head back and laughed. “You know, you had me so worried this morning that I went out and bought your favorite tea to cheer you up. And here you are sneaking around on me.”

Felix blushed. “That’s karma, I guess.”

“Ouch, low blow.”

Felix finally turned to look at him, biting his lip like he wanted to say something. Sylvain slid over to stand behind him, pinning him against the low stone wall.

“So, you know there’s only you, right Fe?”

He felt Felix lean into him. “I know.”

Something in the way he had relaxed just then told Sylvain that he had needed to hear it, even if he claimed otherwise. He kissed the side of his head and murmured, “You are all I need. Always.”

Felix shivered. “What are we going to do, Sylvain?” he whispered.

His heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice regaining its usual tenor for a moment before he continued more uncertainly. “I mean… We’re fucked, right? This war, this world. I finally… We have  _ this _ now,” and his hand fell onto Sylvain’s against the warm stone, gently squeezing him, “And we’re probably going to die.”

Felix let out a long, shaky breath as Sylvain curled into him, trying to figure out how to reassure him when he knew he was right.

“We just keep living, Fe. That’s all there is to it. However long we have, I intend to keep our promise.”

He felt Felix shudder at that.

“And if we don’t die, what will be left for us? Dimitri is  _ gone, _ Sylvain. Who will lead a liberated Fodlan? Him?  _ Me? _ ” His voice cracked on the last word. “I don’t want any of that. I just…  _ I just want him back.” _

Sylvain wrapped his arms around him and sighed sadly. “I know.”

Felix squirmed around to face him, forcing himself to look Sylvain in the eye. “I lose everyone I... I lose  _ everyone _ , Sylvain. I can’t lose you, too.”

His breathing was rapid, pained. Sylvain pulled him in closer and rubbed his back, long, hard strokes.

“It’s okay, Fe.”

His reply was muffled by Sylvain’s chest, where it cut right into his heart.  _ “We’re so fucked.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt title for this fic: A Prayer for More Bathtimes
> 
> not sorry


	9. Chapter 9

True to her word, Byleth cleared Felix for battle just before their next planned advance toward Enbarr. He had gradually increased the intensity of his training until he was almost back to how he had been, before Ailell. Almost. Sylvain didn’t like to think about the width of that margin, about the weight Felix hadn’t quite gained back, or the way his breath still came gasping after a particularly long spar. But he was strong again, there was no doubt. Sylvain hadn’t bested him in well over a week, and the movements of his sword were as sure and deadly as they had ever been.

The last day before their march south was spent in hurried preparation. Felix sharpening his blades, Sylvain giving extra care to Corrin’s grooming, both double-checking the condition of their armor and bedrolls and boots. There wasn’t much time to talk until dinner.

“I still can’t believe we aren’t going to Fhirdiad,” Felix seethed into his herring.

Ingrid raised her eyebrows. “His Highness wants to end this war quickly. Edelgard is in Enbarr, you know that.”

“The Boar wants Edelgard’s head, nothing more. He should be securing the safety of his kingdom, his people.”

“Felix! You’re making it sound like he doesn’t care-”

“He  _ doesn’t _ .”

Sylvain cut across Ingrid’s reply before things could get more heated between the two. “Felix is right. We should be going to Fhirdiad. But we have our orders, don’t we? We’re going to follow Dimitri, no matter where he leads.”

_ Even if it’s to our own deaths _ , he thought, and he knew the others were thinking it too, because they all fell silent for the rest of the meal.

.

Late that night, Sylvain was still thinking about those unspoken words as he stared down at Felix, beautiful and otherworldly in the pale moonlight. His fear felt like ice water in his veins, and he slipped out of bed before his shivering could wake Felix.

He stood in the window, elbows propped against the sash, forehead leaning on the cool glass. His breath fogged over the Great Tree Moon, making it look gauzy and insubstantial. He inhaled shakily and began to murmur an anxious prayer, his first since Felix awoke all those weeks ago.

_ Goddess Sothis, _

_ Please keep Felix safe. _

_ I know I’ve done nothing to deserve him, _

_ But I can’t lose him to this war. _

_ I can’t live without him. _

_ We made a promise to each other once, a long time ago. _

_ I am going to honor it. _

_ Please keep him safe so we can both go on living, _

_ Or take me with him so I won’t have to go on even a minute without him. _

_ Amen. _

A few moments passed before an unsteady voice whispered across the room. “Come back to bed, Sylvain.”

Felix shifted over as he crawled back under the blankets, then rolled on top of him completely, cheek pressed against Sylvain’s rapidly beating heart. His hands wound into Felix’s hair, and if he felt the dampness on his chest, he only held him tighter. It was a long time before his own tears stopped flowing, and he finally fell to sleep.

.

The first thing Sylvain saw as they advanced onto Gronder Field was the line of mages near the front of the Imperial forces. Bile rose in his throat as a volley of fireballs was released over the battleground. He distantly heard his own primal scream as he rode forward, the Lance of Ruin hefted over his head shining its own eerie red light back as the flames rained down.

All was instantly chaos. Sylvain realized dimly that Alliance soldiers were mixed in among their own forces and the enemy’s. He shuddered to think that his weapon might bring down any of the Golden Deer today, but all he could do was press forward, thrusting it viciously at anyone who came up against him. The relic seemed to pull him deeper into enemy territory, thirsty for the blood of the mages that Sylvain saw as the gravest threat.

He had lost sight of Felix almost immediately after the battle started. He willed himself not to look for him amidst the blood and smoke, knowing he would fall apart, that he would  _ fall _ , if he allowed himself to become distracted. He was cavalry, he had to ride ahead and clear the way for Felix, for the rest of the foot soldiers, take out all the casters and ranged weapons that could be aimed at them. He had to trust that the Professor would keep an eye on him today, protective of the one she had so recently almost lost. It was the way she had always been, knowing who might be weak and staying by their side even to their greater detriment. This time, at least, he should be safe. Sylvain screamed again, trying to clear his mind of these frenzied thoughts. Thoughts of finding Felix and whisking him away from here, when he knew they had no choice but to keep fighting.

Somewhere in this hellscape was Edelgard, and Sylvain whispered or howled a prayer to the Goddess that Dimitri might find her quickly, and put an end to this all. His lance plowed through a line of archers, his shield bristling with arrows, which mercifully pinged harmlessly off Corrin’s own heavy armor. He swerved away and regrouped, his eyes landing on a trio of Imperial mages, hands joined to form a giant, menacing sigil in the air above. He leaned forward in his saddle and charged at them, sweeping them down with his lance before letting Corrin trample over their hideous red robes. He circled back around to end the final struggles of one who was not crushed underhoof, weak magic still flickering in her palm as she tried to fight back. He watched with satisfaction as the spell dissipated into nothingness, and he rode on to remove the next threat, and the next.

A small arrow whizzed past his ear and lodged under his pauldron, piercing his flesh and stopping against his left shoulder blade with a sickening thunk. Adrenaline kept him from feeling any pain as he snapped off the shaft and turned to find the source of the bolt - a ballista, fifty yards out. He narrowed his eyes and Bolganoned the weapon and its wielder from existence. He hissed at the sensation of the magic leaving his body like a phantom, burning against his injury for a brief, awful moment, before biting down on his lip and charging onward.

Battles never lasted long, not truly. They could feel endless, as this one did, after Sylvain had taken down dozens or hundreds of enemies, when more kept coming and he was burning through his reserves and wondering how much longer his body could go on, how much more Corrin had to give. Finally, as though in a dream, he heard Dimitri’s booming snarl echo across the dwindling clamor.

“Stab your chest, break your neck, smash your head… I will allow you to choose your own death.”

Sylvain knew in a heartbeat that he was facing Edelgard, that the last, decisive moments were upon them. He turned his horse and rode urgently toward the final showdown, circling behind Dimitri to join the other Blue Lions gathered there.

“I have no intention of dying today,” she spat.

“I’m sure all the people you’ve slaughtered so far thought the same!”

With a beastly growl, he lunged forward, striking her down violently with the shaft of Areadbhar.

_ What the fuck? Kill her, kill her! _ Sylvain watched in horror as Edelgard regained her feet, and with a rageful and determined glare at Dimitri, disappeared in a flash of light.

He turned from Dimitri then, vaguely aware that the mad prince was now ranting, having wasted his opportunity to end the war because he had fucking hesitated. Sylvain felt only disgust and anger. There would be time for questions and accusations later, but he pushed those aside as his eyes sought out Felix.

Blessed relief, there he was. He dismounted, and they walked toward each other in a daze, Sylvain reaching out and pulling him in close. He flinched when Felix’s arms wrapped around him, remembering suddenly the arrow still lodged in his back.

Felix pulled away, his eyes accusing. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Sylvain replied. “I’ll have Mercedes take care of it later.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but suddenly he stopped, his face turning toward where Dimitri still stood. Sylvain glanced back to see what was happening. His Highness was arguing with Rodrigue, struggling toward the retreating Imperial army as the older man tried to block his path. 

Then, as though in slow motion, he saw a young woman dart forward, running headlong toward Dimitri, sword raised. Rodrigue pushed him aside and let the blade sink into his own chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Seemingly from nowhere, the Sword of the Creator whipped across the tableau, but it was too late. As Dimitri’s attacker fell, so too did the Shield of Faerghus.

He heard a choking sound next to him, but Felix didn’t move. Sylvain stood frozen by his side as Lord Fraldarius whispered his last to Dimitri.

.

The ride back to the monastery was awful. After Mercedes had healed his shoulder, after they had buried Felix’s father in a bloody pit in Gronder Field, after Dimitri had wailed and raged and then  _ tried to apologize to Felix _ \- Sylvain had stepped between them and insisted that Dimitri leave, give Felix time - Sylvain had pulled Felix onto the saddle in front of him, and aimed Corrin back on the road to Garreg Mach. Felix had sat there, stiff and silent, blank-faced and numb, for the entire journey.

Sylvain too had been numb, for once at a loss for words, unable to protect or comfort the person he loved most in the world, above even himself. So he had wordlessly hummed old folk songs from Faerghus, letting Felix feel his breath in his hair, his arms wrapped around him, constant reminders that he was not alone, that Sylvain was with him, like he had always promised to be. It was not enough, it would never be enough, but it was all he had, and he would give him that even if the only acknowledgment he got was when Felix’s head would tip back against his shoulder between the songs, resting there briefly before lurching forward, prompting Sylvain to start humming again.

Back at the monastery, they went through the motions of a normal homecoming in silence. They bathed, Sylvain gently washing the blood and sweat from them both. He brought dinner back to Felix’s room, and they ate mechanically, clearing their plates even though the food was like ashes in their mouths. They curled into each other in bed, and Sylvain finally let himself sleep when he felt Felix’s breath drop slow and even against his chest.

Sometime very late that night, he awoke to Felix thrashing against him, whimpering. Sylvain rubbed his back vigorously, trying to ease him from his nightmare, knowing what he had to wake up to would not be much better.

“Shhh, shhh, wake up, Felix. You’re safe. It’s a dream.”

With a wretched gasp, Felix pounded a fist against his chest as his eyes flew open.

“Sylvain?” His voice was panicked, terrified.

“I’m here, Fe. I’m right here.”

“Sylvain, I need you.”

“I know. I’m here.” He wrapped his arms tighter around him, kissing the top of his head.

“No, I need you.  _ I need you,” _ and Felix’s lips were pressing into his jaw, his hands clutching at him desperately.

_ Oh. _

Sylvain dropped his head down to meet Felix’s hungry mouth, kissing him with answering passion.

“I need you,” he whispered again, and Sylvain shifted to undress him, running his hands worshipfully over his feverish skin as Felix continued to writhe beneath him. 

Felix was painfully hard against Sylvain’s thigh when he leaned back down to kiss him again. Sylvain grabbed his hip and pulled him into him, making his breath hitch.

“Sylvain,” he pleaded, and there was no way he could deny him what he wanted. He moved swiftly down his body, pausing only briefly to press kisses into his throat, his collarbone, over his heart, and down his waist. He took so much care in the way he took him into his mouth, wanting so badly to replace his pain with pleasure while he could. Felix twisted his fingers in his hair and groaned, rising to meet him before sinking back down into the mattress. Sylvain focused on the little noises falling from Felix’s mouth to guide him, to tell him how to move his tongue and open his jaw and wrap his fingers to give him what he needed.

He heard a fumbling somewhere overhead, a drawer opening, and Felix pressed something into his hand. Sylvain stopped what he was doing and dropped a gentle kiss onto his hip before looking up at him questioningly. He knew what was in the small bottle he was now holding, but this was new for them, different, and he wanted to be sure.

“Felix?”

His eyes were so haunted, but so certain when they bore back into his.  _ “Please.” _

Sylvain nodded and dropped his head back down, lifting Felix’s legs over his shoulders as he dragged his mouth down his length again, cupping him carefully out of the way as he licked against the back of his thighs, then pressed the flat of his tongue against the tight muscle of his rim. Felix moaned, and Sylvain pushed and swirled against him, softening him up for his first finger, which slid in easily enough. He moved his mouth back to his cock as he crooked his finger, easing it deeper and feeling the hot velvet within. Once again, he listened to the beautiful sounds Felix was making to know how and where to move, and when the sounds began coming quickly, Sylvain pulled his hand away, eliciting a small whine of disappointment.

He pressed his mouth to Felix’s knee as he opened the bottle and drizzled oil over his fingers. “I’ve got you, Felix, don’t worry.”

A gasp answered as he eased two fingers back into him, twisting and stretching as Felix pressed down against his hand.

“Gonna take such good care of you, Fe. You’re gonna feel so good. I love you so much.”

Felix was keening now, wrapping his hands back into Sylvain’s hair and pulling him up for a kiss.  _ “Please.” _

Sylvain hooked his fingers and bumped them up against something sensitive, causing Felix to cry out against his lips.

_ “Sylvain, please.” _

He pulled his hand away slowly and poured out more oil, this time to slick over himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, love and desire and need absolutely thrilling through him, and he hoped Felix was feeling the same. He lifted Felix’s hips and pressed against him, moaning helplessly as he sunk into place.

He stilled himself for a moment, gazing down into Felix’s flushed face to make sure he was alright. He was biting his lip, chest rising and falling rapidly, so, so beautiful. Sylvain dropped his head and kissed his neck, his shoulder, grounding himself for a moment, because he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Felix bucked up against him, pleading his name, snapping him out of his daze, bringing all of his attention back to how fucking  _ amazing _ everything felt right now. He slowly dragged his hips back and pushed forward again, into the incredible soft heat. Felix moaned and pulled him back into a kiss as Sylvain found his rhythm, thrusting slow and deep, wanting to make it last.

“So fucking amazing, Felix. Want this forever, want you forever. I love you.”

Their breath was coming in little hiccups, both of them unraveling a bit in order to ravel back together with the other. Sylvain wrapped his arm around Felix’s waist, pulling him up so he could angle into him better. Felix moaned again,  _ “Please,” _ and Sylvain picked up his pace, giving him what he wanted, what they both wanted.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around Felix’s cock. “Come on, sweetheart. I want to make you feel so good. You’re almost there.”

Sylvain gave his hips another rough hitch and Felix cried out, no longer capable of words, his seed spilling between them as he clenched and pulsed around Sylvain, driving him right over the edge, taking his words, too.

The room was spinning as he collapsed onto Felix, gasping and shaking. He used his momentum and the last of his strength to roll onto his back, pulling Felix on top of him, holding him tight.

His left shoulder was burning again as he came back to himself, and he knew that Felix would be coming down too. He pulled him in to another kiss, firm and chaste and full of all his love.

When Felix began to tremble, Sylvain ran his fingers through his hair, softly humming the songs from back home. He didn’t stop when Felix stilled, hoping these comforts would find him in his dreams, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew.


	10. Chapter 10

The Harpstring Moon felt like a fragile thing, pulled taut against a dark sky, vibrating with grief and the tentative hope of Dimitri’s salvation. No longer were they marching for Enbarr and certain death. They were back at Garreg Mach, planning a mission that until now, no one had imagined would be possible. They were going to retake Fhirdiad.

Felix watched Dimitri warily out of the corners of his eyes, snarling and walking away whenever his old friend tried to speak to him directly. Dimitri would then turn to Sylvain, helpless and wounded, and Sylvain would smile sadly and walk after Felix, wondering how he could possibly explain to someone like the prince that he needed to show Felix, not tell him, how he felt.  _ Just win this war, it will all be worth it if you can lead us to victory. _ And he did say that to him, a few times, but Dimitri’s eye would grow huge and bewildered and he would start to argue, “But he must understand how deeply I regret-”, and begin a litany of all his failures as a leader, as a human being, as a friend. It was exhausting.

The worst part of it was, Felix wouldn’t talk about any of it. Day in and day out, they would train and take meals and do work around the monastery together, and it was up to Sylvain to fill the silence. Felix was always pretty quiet, but his grief and rage had rendered him absolutely taciturn. Each night, they would still fall asleep in each other’s arms, and Sylvain found comfort in knowing that that much had not changed, but he had to admit that he was lonely. His sympathy and concern for Felix grew into unease, and then fear. He felt like he was losing him, but at the same time, he knew he had to be patient with his grief, that it was selfish for him to be worrying about their relationship when Felix had so much else to grapple with.

After three weeks of this, Sylvain thought he might lose his mind.

They were at the training grounds, and Felix was executing a frenzied attack on a dummy. They had encountered an apologetic Dimitri again at breakfast, just before coming here, and it had obviously riled him. Sylvain sighed and set down his lance, watching Felix work his feelings out with his sword. Always his sword, never Sylvain.

“Felix.”

His wooden blade slashed clean through the wicker torso, and he turned his assault to the next dummy in line.

“Felix,  _ please _ . Talk to me.”

Felix tensed, his back to Sylvain, apparently considering his next move. Finally he turned and looked at him warily, his hand still clenched tight around the pommel of his sword.

Sylvain stepped closer to him, studying his face, trying to find the right words to convince him to drop his guard. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

He grimaced. “I do.”

“I can’t… I don’t know what this is like for you. I want to help, but I don’t know how. Maybe I can’t. I just, I wish you could tell me what you were thinking, instead of just doing,” he waved his arms around, “ _ this.” _

“I’m fine.”

Sylvain laughed humorlessly. “Oh, obviously. You don’t talk anymore, you have nightmares every night, and Goddess, Fe, you’ve barely even  _ looked  _ at me since we got back from Gronder.”

Felix looked stricken. “We’ve been-”

“I’m not talking about sex! Every other minute of the day, you’ve been completely closed off, and I could live with that if you would _just_ _tell me why.”_

They stared at each other, Felix chewing on his lip, Sylvain breathing heavily like he was in the middle of a spar.

“Fuck, Fe, you express more emotion to Dimitri than you do to me these days.” His heart lurched in his chest as a long-held suspicion tumbled unbidden from his mouth. “Do you… do you love him?”

_ “What?” _

“I know how long you’ve been waiting for him to… If you don’t want me around anymore, just tell me.” Tears were stinging his eyes, and he had to look away. He couldn’t bear to see what Felix’s face would look like when his worst fears came to fruition.

Felix was glaring as he stalked up to him, closing the distance between them. He jabbed a finger into his chest, and hissed out his next words. “Don’t be an idiot, Sylvain. Dimitri is like-” He stopped to correct himself. “Dimitri  _ was _ like Glenn. And then he was gone like him, too. I don’t know what he is now, but it’s  _ not like that.  _ It’s never been like that... Never like you.”

Sylvain slumped into Felix, the fight having gone out of him. “I fuck everything up, don’t I.”

Felix stiffened. “Stop talking like that.”

Sylvain pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m being selfish and stupid and I’m sorry. You’ve got enough to deal with without me making it all worse.”

“Sylvain,” he growled. “You’re not making anything worse. I… want you here. With me.”

After a pause, he added, “I’ll try to be better company.” 

Another pause. “Spar with me?”

Sylvain had to laugh. After weeks of favoring the dummies over Sylvain, this was Felix’s way of making an effort. He turned to pick up his abandoned lance, taking the opportunity to wipe at his eyes. He straightened up with a mostly-genuine smile on his face, determined to enjoy getting his ass handed to him, if only because it meant he was getting Felix’s undivided attention again.

They bowed, then raised their weapons and began circling one another.

“If I beat you, you have to talk to Dimitri.” Sylvain kept his voice light and casual, hoping he wasn’t pushing his luck too hard.

Felix barked out a laugh. “That won’t be happening.”

“Which part?” Sylvain lunged forward, lance extended toward Felix’s open left flank.

He swatted it away easily with his sword and grinned. “Neither.”

That sly smile melted away the last of the tension in Sylvain’s chest, and he focused all his energy on trying to win. Keeping up with Felix was hard work, but it was worth it to see his intensity, and the clear pleasure it sparked in him. In the end, it was a close match, but Sylvain still wound up in the dirt with a wooden blade at his throat. He raised his hands in surrender. 

“Will you please talk to him?”

Felix narrowed his eyes, then nodded abruptly. He reached down to help him up, and as soon as he was upright, Sylvain pulled Felix in by his wrist and kissed his forehead.

“Thank you, Fe.”

He blushed pink, stepping away to hide the small, upward curve of his mouth. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

.

Dimitri and Byleth were late for dinner that evening, walking in as Felix and Sylvain were finishing their meal. Felix frowned at Sylvain, then got up from the table without a word. Sylvain sat and watched nervously as Felix approached them, arms crossed. He couldn’t hear what was said, but Byleth smiled serenely and slipped away, catching Sylvain’s eye briefly as she left Felix and Dimitri alone.

Felix’s back was to Sylvain, but he could see Dimitri clearly. He looked like he was pleading with him. Felix shook his head and brought his hand to his temple, rubbing at it in frustration. Then his hands dropped, he clenched and unclenched his fists, gesturing sharply around as he spoke. Dimitri looked flustered, but he listened without interrupting. When he spoke again, he looked thoughtful, a far cry from the desperation that had haunted his face since Gronder. Finally, both men nodded, and Felix turned and walked back to where Sylvain sat waiting. His face was flushed, but he seemed otherwise calm.

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

He stood up and followed him out of the dining hall. At the bottom of the steps, Felix stopped so suddenly that Sylvain almost crashed into him. He glared at him for a moment, then stood on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on Sylvain’s forehead.

Soft as anything, Felix huffed, “Thank you,” then hurried on toward the dormitories.

Sylvain remained frozen in place for a moment, running his fingers across his forehead and smiling foolishly, before he rushed to catch up with him.

.

Everyone’s spirits rose after their triumph at Fhirdiad. Sylvain had even managed to keep much of his anxiety in check during the battle, allowing himself a small amount of assurance from being back on their home turf, reclaiming familiar streets from enemy forces. The citizens’ rebellion had bolstered them all, and the Blue Lions’ victory had been decisive and swift. Sylvain had sought out Felix even before Cornelia fell, turning his back on Dimitri and trusting that he would, this time, take his revenge.

He spotted the glow of the Aegis Shield from across the city square and rushed toward it. Felix’s hair had fallen loose and there was blood on his cheek, but he appeared unharmed. Sylvain swept him up into a tight embrace, lifting him off the ground.

“Put me down.” Felix’s protest was muffled in Sylvain’s hair, and he kicked at him half-heartedly. 

Sylvain obeyed, reluctantly, then swore when he realized the blood on Felix’s cheek was actually his. A deep gash ran under his right eye, still fresh and oozing.

Felix flinched as Sylvain gently pressed his hand to the wound, but the soft glow of his Faith quickly eased the pain and stanched the bleeding.

“When did you learn that?” Felix prodded at his face suspiciously, and when he was satisfied that the healing magic had actually worked, looked up at Sylvain with a furrowed brow.

“Back at the Academy,” Sylvain answered. “I never was any good at it, but I decided to brush up recently.”

“Hmmph.”

“What?”

“You worry too much.”

Sylvain chuckled. “You can’t be mad at me for healing you.”

“It was just a scratch.”

“Well, now it’s gone and you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“There you two are!” Ingrid’s bright voice sounded from a few feet away. “Hate to break up the romantic reunion, but Dimitri just killed that witch Cornelia, and the Professor announced a victory feast!”

Felix rolled his eyes. “A feast? That’s why you’re so excited?”

She swatted at him impatiently. “No, asshole. We won! Come celebrate!”

Sylvain laughed as they followed her back to join their friends. His heart felt lighter than it had in years.

The palace staff had put together an admirable feast on short notice, and citizens and soldiers of all classes had crammed into the great hall to join the revelry. Several hours and a fair few glasses of wine later, Sylvain was listening to Ashe talk animatedly about the palace’s library, reputed to have an unrivaled collection of chivalric tales. He nodded along enthusiastically, pleased that such a frivolous topic could even be discussed, for once.

Felix caught his eye across the table. Sylvain knew he wasn’t comfortable in these settings, so he flashed him an easy smile and jerked his head toward the exit. Felix looked relieved, and stood to go as Sylvain made his excuses to Ashe.

A blast of frigid air met them as they stepped outside together. Spring evenings in Fhirdiad were much colder than those at the monastery, but it felt refreshing after escaping the heat of the crowded feast. Sylvain steered Felix toward a small, private garden he remembered from previous visits. It overlooked the city, and in the dark, the bodies and rubble from the day’s battle were hidden from view. It made it easy to forget the violence, to imagine the feast was to celebrate something less bittersweet than a wartime victory.

Sylvain sunk onto a bench near the low garden wall and pulled Felix down next to him. The smaller man was shivering, so Sylvain tugged him closer and wrapped his arms and his light woolen cloak around his shoulders.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Just get cold more, since the spell.” His teeth chattered as he nuzzled up to the heat of Sylvain’s body.

He felt a pang of guilt for not having noticed before. “Oh. You never mentioned that.”

Felix mumbled something incoherent into Sylvain’s neck.

“What?”

“I said, you’re usually around to keep me warm.”

Sylvain smiled and relaxed. “Glad to be of service, Fe.”

They gazed out at the city and the night sky in silence as Felix’s shivering slowed.

“So, I know I’m probably an idiot,” Sylvain said softly. “I know the war’s not over. But after today, it’s hard not to feel hopeful about the future.”

“You’re not an idiot, Sylvain.”

A few minutes passed before Sylvain spoke again. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you feel hopeful?”

He forced himself to keep looking at the stars as he felt Felix’s eyes bore into his face. It was a long time before he heard the answer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

.

Hope was a heavy burden to carry in the midst of a war. Each victory brought them closer to a potential resolution, and the closer that possibility was, the more devastating the idea of failure became. What if, after all of this, they still lost everything? Sylvain often wondered if certain doom would be easier to accept than the tenuous, tantalizing promise of tomorrow.

Triumph at Derdriu, then Fort Merceus, brought swells of hope and fear crashing through Sylvain’s heart. Word that his father had brought conflict to an end in Faerghus unsettled him, only because he felt so little at the news. Relief, yes, that order was being restored in the Kingdom, but his indifference to the Margrave’s involvement would have surprised him, had he not felt so numb about it all to begin with. He was not sure when he stopped caring about his father, but he supposed it was only fair, given how little care for him had ever been returned.

His birthday passed on a battlefield, and he would have forgotten it himself if not for Felix’s whispered promise that morning in their shared tent. “Next year will be different.” 

Not better, just different. One way or another, at least it wouldn’t be  _ this _ . 

Sylvain appreciated his blunt honesty more than ever in this moment, and rewarded it with a soft kiss. “It will.”

Soon, all that remained was Enbarr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally let my spellcheck correct a “Fhirdiad” to “Florida,” but fortunately I caught it before posting. Goddess can you imagine what *that* story would be


	11. Chapter 11

Their march south had stopped just short of Enbarr. Another half-day, and they would be upon the great city, ready for the fight of their lives. But instead of forging ahead, they made camp, choking on the dreadful hope that battle could be avoided altogether. The Blue Lions were sprawled around a fire, nervously awaiting the return of their prince and their professor, who had gone ahead, alone, to parley with Edelgard.

Annette needlessly added more wood to the fire, poking at the flames with a long stick for perhaps the fiftieth time that evening, before flopping down next to Mercedes and sighing dramatically. “Do you guys think this was a good idea?”

Everyone knew what she meant. Dimitri and Byleth’s lives were currently in Edelgard’s hands, and no matter how many reassurances the two had given before riding off that morning, none of them fully trusted that they would return safely.

Dedue clenched his jaw. His eyes were glued to the southern horizon as they had been all day, despite it now being too dark to see much beyond the rings of light cast by the dozens of fires scattered across the encampment. “His Highness will return.”

Ingrid nodded uncertainly. “He wouldn’t have gone if he didn’t believe there was a chance for it to work.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I just hope he’s right.”

Sylvain was surprised to feel Felix tense beside him, then lean forward to speak. “I’m sure he’s thought it through. If the two can settle this diplomatically, that would be the best way out of this mess. No more bloodshed.”

Sylvain gave his shoulder a small squeeze, and Felix moved in closer. They sat quietly together while their friends continued debating their chances for an easy path to peace, Felix tugging idly at a loose thread on Sylvain’s sleeve, his brow deeply furrowed.

Finally, Dedue’s voice cut across the conversation. “They are back.”

Six heads swiveled in unison to follow his gaze. There was nothing to see in the darkness, but the distinct sound of two horses approaching at an easy pace all but confirmed what he had said.

“I’ll go find the ostler.” Ingrid jumped up and hurried away, returning with a groom at her heels just as Dimitri and Byleth dismounted near the edge of camp. They were too far away still for their expressions to be readable, but Sylvain’s stomach sank all the same.

When Byleth looked up and saw them all watching, she shook her head.

So it would be war until the end.

.

A couple of hours later, Sylvain was sitting in a cramped tent, numb with fear and dashed hopes. He clung desperately to the battle plan they had honed over the past moon, thoroughly reviewed around the fire that evening one last time.

He stared openly at Felix as the other man undressed a few feet away. Desire and heartbreak circled each other in his gut, seemingly at an impasse. He couldn’t push aside the thought that tonight might be all they had left. He must have made a noise, a sob or a hitch in his breath, because Felix looked up at him then and frowned. Neither man spoke. What was there to say? There were no words of comfort for what was coming, only lies and empty promises. 

Still, Felix sat beside him and dropped his head to his shoulder, gently kissing his bare skin. Sylvain turned to look at his face, a question in his eyes. He must have found the answer he was seeking, because he closed the distance between them with a kiss, soft at first, then hungry, bottomless.

Sylvain pushed Felix back onto the bedroll, running his hands greedily over his shoulders, his arms, his ribs, memorizing how every hard plane of muscle felt under his touch, marveling at how smooth and warm and alive he felt. Praying he would remain that way, desperately fearing he would not. 

Felix shivered, and Sylvain pressed his body against him, pushing his fingers into his hair and gently tugging away the tie that held it in place. He pulled back for a moment, drinking in the sight of Felix’s dark locks spread like silk across the linens. Sylvain’s gaze roamed over his face, his beautiful amber eyes and the deep shadows beneath, his beautiful angry mouth and the perfect sharp teeth biting at his lower lip, memorizing all these too.

The pause earned him a glare, and Felix surged up to kiss him again, wrapping a leg around him and grinding against his thigh insistently, the friction sending sparks down Sylvain’s spine. He took a shaky breath and slipped his hands beneath the soft pants Felix had put on for sleeping, sliding the fabric away and kneading his hands into strong legs, firm buttocks, angular hip bones, committing them to memory.

He ran his mouth down Felix’s jaw, sank his teeth into his neck, laved his tongue into the hollows of his collarbones, savoring the taste, the salt and spice, the small sounds that accompanied each kiss and bite. These too were things he must not forget.

A small bottle of oil was pressed into his hand, and then Sylvain’s slick fingers circled carefully against soft, gripping heat, drawing out a breathy groan as they brushed against sensitive flesh within. Blunt fingernails dug into his back, the sting imprinting itself in his mind as he was dragged back up to kiss Felix’s mouth again and again. 

His hand was pushed away as heels dug forcefully into his back, pulling him closer, closer, closer. A soft  _ ah _ escaped his own lips as he slid into place, pleasure surging almost like pain in his heart. He dropped onto his elbows and began to pace a slow drag in and out, unable to rush what could be their last time. Their faces were just inches apart, gasping at the same air, tears mingling on Felix’s cheeks where they dropped from two pairs of eyes. It was like this, gentle and broken, that they came apart, clinging to each other and trembling.

“ _ Felix _ .” He whispered his name reverently.

“ _ Sylvain _ .” The answering voice was so small.

Minutes passed, or perhaps hours. They had curled into each other under a blanket, legs tangled, foreheads pressed together. Sylvain had made up his mind as they lay there. “I need to tell you something, Fe.”

He felt Felix draw back a couple of inches, saw the tense frown on his face. Sylvain laid a finger over his lips before they could protest

He spoke rapidly, his voice low and nervous. “Before Gronder… Before your father died, he knew about us. He all but gave me his blessing. He, he wanted you to be happy, Fe. He told me you deserve to be happy. I thought you should know, in case… I thought you should know.”

Felix stared back at him with wide eyes, shining like burnished mahogany in the darkness. He swallowed heavily, apparently unable to speak.

Sylvain lifted his hand to stroke his cheek. “I love you, Felix. I love you, and if we make it through this, I’m never leaving your side. As long as you want me, I promise, I’m yours.  _ I love you.” _

Felix’s face suddenly twisted with fury, and Sylvain’s heart shriveled in his chest. But even as he flinched away, he committed this too to his memory. He may not deserve to be loved, but that made no difference, in the end.

Then Felix was kissing him, hugging him tighter than ever before. That was how they fell asleep, eventually, wrapped up in each other as though it was their last night on earth.

.

They awoke before dawn to strong winds tearing at the tent flaps, threatening to pull the flimsy structure down altogether. The wind alone would make today’s battle more difficult, and Sylvain could only hope whatever storm was sending them stayed out over the sea. If they were caught in an actual monsoon, they would be in trouble.

Sylvain helped Felix pull his hair into tight plaits before they emerged to meet the others for a hasty breakfast. The rising sun revealed clear skies in all directions, in spite of the gusty winds, relieving a small sliver of the anxiety that weighed heavily over them all. Ingrid and her Pegasus Corps would struggle, but they had trained for scenarios like this, and at least it didn’t look like they would be facing the worst possible conditions.

The winds buffeted them heavily as they marched to the city, ripping the air from their lungs and stinging their eyes. Felix was tucked neatly in front of Sylvain on Corrin’s back, his wordless company a talisman against the panic bubbling in his chest. When they reached the outskirts late morning, Felix turned to look at him, amber eyes brilliant with fierce determination. Sylvain squeezed his thigh, and Felix kissed him quickly, just a peck, before hopping down from the saddle and rushing back to join the infantry.

Sylvain watched him until he was lost in a sea of soldiers, then turned his face upward and whispered one last prayer, “ _ Goddess, let me keep my promises. _ ” 

Dimitri screamed their orders, and violence flooded the streets. 

Enbarr was an objectively beautiful place. Sylvain had always appreciated aesthetics, so even as he charged toward death he couldn’t help but notice the glittering canals, the dazzling crimson cupolas, the cheerful green squares, until the tides of war reared up and swallowed them whole.

It was the strangest battle Sylvain had ever had the horror of fighting. If Edelgard herself was now a desperate, cornered animal, her army had turned feral in their devotion. Carefully considered formations were forced to scatter as Imperial soldiers careened toward them from every direction, commands to reconvene lost to the winds, their howling force amplified by the straight lines of the avenues and alleyways.

Any hope of cooperation was quickly abandoned. Sylvain moved forward on his own, striking down scores of wild-eyed Imperial soldiers, the Lance of Ruin singing in his hands. In his periphery, he saw the Pegasus Corps too was maneuvering independently, in strange swooping attacks, surgical strikes executed on the whims of each rider. It appeared the Empire’s Wyvern Forces were having a harder time, the large beasts unable to move so easily in the powerful gales. And this wasn’t their only advantage; the enemy’s ballistas were quickly abandoned as they realized there was no way to aim with any degree of accuracy. Of course this same problem also plagued the Kingdom’s archers, but their mobility at least allowed them to move in to closer range and continue fighting. It was more dangerous, but they were not hobbled, and fewer ranged weapons aimed at them was nothing short of a blessing, to Sylvain’s mind.

Slowly but surely, he carved a path forward to the palace. Outside the Opera House, an axe blow glanced off his plackart, broken ribs rattling him only briefly before he took out the wielder. As he yanked back his weapon, he heard a sharp  _ “Sylvain!” _ from over his right shoulder. How this sound reached him over the blank din of the wind he could not imagine, but as he spun around toward it he met an enemy lance with his own, mere inches from slipping into Corrin’s flank. Just inside the mouth of a nearby alley, Sylvain caught a glimpse of a glowing shield, and the desperate flash of steel _. _ Within seconds, Sylvain had dismounted and sent his riderless horse away from the fray. Then he was running toward Felix. 

The swordsman was fighting off two Imperial soldiers, and Sylvain saw a third charging toward him from further up the alley. He struck down the man to Felix’s right, then ran past him to remove the incoming threat. They fought the rest of the way to the palace like this, side by side, bone-deep familiarity allowing them to move as one.

The Empire fell bit by bit until the only soldiers still standing in the square outside the palace were of the Kingdom. Sylvain was relieved to see all the Blue Lions among them. Ashe was limping badly, and Dedue was bleeding from a large gash on the back of his head, but Byleth shooed Mercedes away from them, instead passing around vulneraries. “You need to save your magic,” she explained, her words almost swallowed by the wind. “We’re not done yet.”

All eyes turned to the palace doors. Sylvain gulped his vulnerary down greedily, sighing as the aching pressure in his ribs dulled to low throb. 

Felix’s hand found his as a battalion of brawlers took a battering ram to Edelgard’s final defenses.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

The answering glare actually brought a smile to his face. Even here, even now.

“Don’t die.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Felix gave his hand one last squeeze before they sprinted into the palace.

It was eerie how still it was inside, away from the winds. Byleth’s voice rang out, echoing off the walls, a relief to have order restored to their ranks after the chaotic melee in the city streets.

“Ingrid, Ashe, you take out the Demonic Beast in the western hall. Felix, the Fire Orb beyond the Beast. Sylvain, you cover him.”

Her voice faded as they ran toward their targets, striking down anyone who stood in their way. The palace was crawling with mages, and Sylvain focused on taking out as many as he could, leaving the mundane forces for the others to deal with. Ashe took up the rear of their small formation, his arrows landing true in the still air, until one of the sorcerers kicked up a sudden gale.

“I’ve had about enough of that,” Ingrid growled, and Luin swept the caster off her feet before slamming through her, cracking the marble floor beneath.

“Ingrid, look out!” Ashe fired off a quick volley of arrows at the Imperial knight bearing down on her, but they pinged uselessly off his plate. Felix darted forward as she struggled to pull Luin from where it was embedded in flesh and stone. He danced around the heavy axe and slipped his blade into a nearly invisible gap beneath his gorget. His sword drew back red, and man and weapon hit the ground at Ingrid’s feet.

Felix already had one foot in the next room as Sylvain defeated the final mage in the vestibule.  _ Shit,  _ he needed to keep up. He vaulted over the bodies littering the floor and reached Felix just in time to yank him behind a pillar to escape a powerful swipe from the Demonic Beast.

“ _ Sylvain!” _

“Felix, leave it for Ingrid and Ashe. We need to take care of that.” He pointed ahead to the Fire Orb, where a gremory was launching dark balls of miasma back into the Great Hall, landing dangerously close to Dimitri and Byleth.

Felix scoffed, but he changed course immediately. Sylvain defended him ferociously as he climbed to the top of the dais, dagger between his teeth. A strangled sound from above was all the evidence he needed to know that Felix had succeeded before the smaller man dropped lightly back to the ground next to him. At the same time, an ear-splitting screech announced the fall of the Demonic Beast.

They took a moment to exchange a small smile, unbridled hope passing between them like something physical. Then Sylvain’s sixth sense kicked into overdrive, the sensation of eyes on his back dragging his own gaze back to the door to the Throne Room’s antechamber.

Dorothea stood there, not twenty paces away, her head cocked in concentration. The sigil before her snapped into focus, and Sylvain only had time to turn and shove Felix as hard as he could before the meteor came crashing down on him.

He dimly registered that he was on the ground before the pain hit, tearing screams from his throat. Something was crushing him, killing him, grinding the left side of his body to nothing. His hip, his leg, all that was left was pure agony.

_ “Sylvain!” _

He screamed again, or someone else was screaming, he couldn’t tell anymore. All that mattered was Felix’s face, his beautiful amber eyes swimming into view like a holy revelation. In a heartbeat, his pain disappeared, relief and clarity taking its place. “Fe, you’re safe.”

“Sylvain, stay with me! You have to keep our promise!” 

Felix sounded so upset, it didn’t make any sense. He was safe, so nothing was wrong. Sylvain smiled, his vision going hazy at the edges.

“Goddess, Sylvain, _ please. _ I love-”

Everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ༼ ༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ༽


	12. Chapter 12

_ Sylvain was six, and Felix was crying. His knees were bloodied from his tumble on the rocky Fraldarius beach. Sylvain pulled him into a hug and sang that one song he knew about Loog and the five-bean stew, until they were both doubled over, laughing. _

_ Sylvain was eight, and he was watching Felix lift his new training sword for the first time. Pride swelled in his chest as his best friend came hurtling toward him across the training grounds. He wasn’t expecting him to be so strong, and when the blade thwacked across the backs of his fingers where they were loosely gripping his child-sized lance, he yelped. Felix’s brow crumpled when he realized what he had done, but Sylvain laughed it off and told him to get back in position for their spar. Unlike everyone else in Sylvain’s life, he knew Felix didn’t mean to hurt him. _

_ Sylvain was eleven, and he was stuck in bed, recuperating from hypothermia. He was overjoyed when Felix came bounding into his room, on a rare visit to Gautier. “Miklan left you out there, didn’t he?” Felix demanded, and his face was the angriest Sylvain had ever seen it. “Don’t worry, Fe,” he answered, side-stepping his question. “I kept our promise, didn’t I?” _

_ Sylvain was fourteen, and Miklan was gone. His father spoke of nothing but his legacy, his Crest, suitable young ladies. Sylvain tried to be the son his father wanted, tried to fill the space that Miklan had left so lacking. He didn’t remember the name of the first girl he kissed, but her hair was dark, and her eyes were gold. Sylvain supposed she was pretty. He felt awful afterwards, the kiss was all wrong. He told himself it was because the girl didn’t love him, was just using him. That was all. It would get easier if he kept trying. _

_ Sylvain was seventeen, and he kissed a lot of girls. It still felt wrong, he still felt awful. He hadn’t seen Felix in over a year. He missed him so much, it hurt. If ever he thought these two hurts were related, he quickly pushed it from his mind. _

_ Sylvain was twenty, and the Professor had disappeared at the battle at Garreg Mach. Felix had been a vision that day, an avenging angel, fighting harder than all of them. It hadn’t been enough, none of it had been enough. The Lance of Ruin was heavy on Sylvain’s back as they parted ways near Fraldarius. Not knowing when they would see each other again, if they would ever see each other again. He wasn’t prepared for war, and he wasn’t prepared for this. He was sure his heart was breaking. _

_ Sylvain was twenty-three, and his life was an endless blur of blood and exhaustion. When he wasn’t marching, he was fighting. One of the only joys he had remaining were the brief glimpses of Felix he would get every few weeks, the precious hours in his company every few months. By now, Sylvain realized that he was in love with him, but he also knew that it was hopeless. He could not risk their lifelong friendship by confessing, so instead, he made it his life’s mission to make Felix blush. It was childish, but it made him happy. He was so pretty when he blushed. _

_ Sylvain was twenty-five, and Felix was almost killed at Ailell. He was certain that he would die too, if Felix didn’t wake from his spell. Somehow, miraculously, he did. And somehow, miraculously, Felix wanted him, perhaps even loved him. Sylvain would give him all the time he needed to figure it out. _

_ Sylvain was twenty-six, and he hated breaking promises. But Sylvain was happy to die at Enbarr, if it meant Felix would live. _

_ Sylvain was hurtling through time, and all he saw was dark hair, amber eyes, and a scowl that set his heart aflame. There was really nothing else to see. _

.

Sylvain was awake. Consciousness came to him all at once, a great gasp filling his lungs as he tried to sit up. The gasp tore back out of him in an agonized scream as the pain in his body held him down, crushing him under its weight.

The voices around him sounded as though they came from a great distance.

“Fuck! Mercie,  _ help him _ .”

“I’m trying, he’s not-”

“Sylvain, it’s okay, we’re all okay. Remember our promise.  _ You have to be okay, too. _ ”

“I have to put him back to sleep, his body can’t-”

_ “Please, Sylvain, I love you.” _

When Sylvain felt the darkness tugging at him again, suddenly he didn’t want to go. He had no choice but to follow.

.

The next time Sylvain woke up, it happened by degrees. 

First he felt soft pressure brushing across the back of his hand. It felt nice, and he heard a gentle sigh escape his lips. 

Slowly, sensation returned to the rest of his body, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to will it back down to just his hand. He didn’t want to feel the rest of it, it fucking  _ hurt. _ Everything felt heavy, and his entire left side felt  _ wrong  _ somehow, twisted and splintered. His ribs, his hip, Goddess,  _ his fucking leg _ , all of it hurt. He didn’t have enough energy for screaming, so all that came out was a groan.

“Sylvain?”

That voice. It was so much better than the pain, he wanted more of that voice and less of the pain. He forced his eyes open to look for its source. 

His eyelids felt like they were being held shut with Dark Spikes, and he groaned again. Everything was blurry, and the room around him spun. A dark smudge loomed over him. Where the hell was he?

His vision finally began to settle. Felix’s face was so pale, his eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a mess. He looked awful.

Sylvain felt his face split into a grin. That hurt too, his lips were cracking and bleeding, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

“ _ Felix _ .” His voice was barely a rasp. He tried to cough, but his chest felt too dry to cooperate.

“Don’t move, hold on.”

Sylvain wheezed a ghost of a laugh. He couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to.

Felix moved out of his line of sight for a moment, and when he came back, Sylvain felt something cold and smooth resting against his lips. He instinctively opened his mouth, and Felix poured a few drops of water from the pipette. The relief was instant.

“Thank you.”

Felix made a small noise, irritation or disapproval. “I need to get Mercedes. I’ll be right back.”

He ran his hand over Sylvain’s brow just once, then disappeared again.

Sylvain closed his eyes and waited. Seconds passed, or maybe hours, and he heard footsteps and voices. He pushed his eyes back open.

Mercedes was standing over one side of his bed, Felix the other. Sylvain made an effort to twitch the fingers closest to Felix, and the other man’s hand quickly wound itself around them. His lips stung in protest as he grinned again.

Mercie smiled down at him. She looked exhausted. “Sylvain, do you know where you are?”

He let his gaze roam as far as he could without moving his head. There was a cracked white ceiling, gaudy red curtains framing a dingy window, and a matching, garishly red bedspread, embroidered with gold palm fronds. He could see little else from his vantage point.

“Ugly room?”

Felix snorted, and Mercedes answered with a tired, tinkling laugh. “Fair enough! We are still in Enbarr.”

Sylvain closed his eyes for a moment to think that through. If they were still in Enbarr, and still alive, that could only mean one thing.

“Edelgard?”

“Defeated, with the rest of the Empire,” she replied solemnly.

Sylvain squeezed Felix’s hand and let out a long breath. He kept his eyes shut, but he could feel tears leaking from their corners.

Felix squeezed back. Sylvain opened his eyes and looked at him. He was staring down at Sylvain’s face with naked concern, strikingly vulnerable.

“And…” Sylvain licked his lips and felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Everyone else?”

Felix answered softly. “We all made it, Sylvain.”

He let out another shaky breath and smiled. “So everything’s okay.”

At this, Felix’s face crumpled, and he dropped his gaze to the hideous bedspread, glaring at it.

Mercedes cleared her throat. “Sylvain, there’s no delicate way to put this. You’ve been injured.”

He felt his brow furrow and was only mildly surprised to discover that this, too, was painful. “I noticed.”

“It’s… extensive. I’m doing the best I can, but your left leg…” She sighed. “It’s unlikely to heal properly.”

Sylvain blinked. His mind wasn’t up to the task of piecing together her meaning. “Okay.”

Felix sighed and took over, asking the questions Sylvain could not. “What should we expect, Mercie?”

“Pain, I’m afraid. And if he can walk again… Well, it may take awhile for us to get there.”

“‘If?’” His voice had an angry edge to it, sharp like a blade.

“It won’t be easy.”

“ _ So try harder _ -”

“Felix.” Sylvain had found his voice again. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

“What do you mean,  _ you’ll  _ figure it out?” Felix hissed.

Mercedes cleared her throat. “I have other patients to attend to. I’ll be back this evening to check in on you, Sylvain.”

She slipped out the door, and Sylvain felt the full force of Felix’s glare on his face.

“ _ Sylvain _ .”

“What?”

“What do you mean,  _ you’ll figure it out?” _

Sylvain stared resolutely at the ceiling, nausea churning against the pain in his ribs. Of all the outcomes he had expected from this war, he had never considered one like this, but of course Sylvain had found the one way to fuck up their happy ending.

At least Felix was safe. 

But it was like Rodrigue had said, Felix deserved to be happy. Nothing else mattered.

He took as deep of a breath as he could manage, and steeled himself to break his own heart.

“You’ve got enough to worry about, Fe.” He swallowed down the lump in his throat before he continued. “Maybe when I’m doing better, I can come visit you in Fraldarius someday.”

Felix laughed humorlessly and leaned forward, forcing Sylvain to look at him.

“If you think I’m leaving your side, you really are an idiot.”

“Felix-”

“Shut up.” 

Before Sylvain could protest, Felix was kissing him. When he pulled back, his beautiful amber eyes were blazing.

“And when you  _ are _ better, we’ll go back to Fraldarius, together.”

“Fe…”

“You think I would let my husband live in Enbarr?”

A tingling sensation bled from Sylvain’s heart out to the edges of his battered body. This wasn’t heartbreak, this was something else, something he was certain he did not deserve. He suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Fe?”

“Sylvain,  _ I love you.”  _ Goddess, he sounded angry about it, and Sylvain felt wild laughter bubble up from his throat. It hurt, but the ecstatic thrum still radiating through his chest kept it bearable. 

Felix started frowning, so Sylvain dragged his hand up, with great effort, to touch his cheek. The other man leaned into his touch, and all of his resolve from just moments ago crumbled. If Felix still wanted him, after all of this...

“...You do?”

“ _ Yes. _ So will you marry me?”

“Goddess,  _ yes _ , of course. Fe, I love you so much-” 

Felix cut off his rambling with another kiss.

“Good. Now go back to sleep, or Mercedes will kill us both.”

.

Sylvain squinted up into the bright sunlight. He could hardly believe how different the cathedral looked. In the year since the war had ended, it had been restored almost completely to its former glory. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, the war was still very present. He felt it in his bones.

A light touch at his right elbow pulled him from his reverie.

“Are you ready?”

He turned his head, and all thoughts of the war flew from his mind.

Felix looked stunning. He was wearing a dark suit, perfectly tailored to his strong, lean frame, and a decorative sword hung from his hip. His hair was twisted into an intricate braided bun, studded with tiny white flowers. Lily of the Valley.

Even as he smiled, Sylvain felt tears stinging his eyes.

“ _ Goddess.  _ You’re beautiful, Fe.”

Felix’s glare was not very effective. His eyes were sparkling with happiness.

“Then hurry up and marry me, you idiot.”

Sylvain leaned on his cane and slowly made his way to the open doors of the crowded cathedral. Felix stayed with him every step of the way.

He paused to whisper a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess, then kissed the other man’s forehead one last time before they went down the aisle arm in arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, 36k words. I can’t believe I actually wrote this thing. I learned so much along the way, and there were (a lot of) days that I HATED IT, but your comments and kudos really helped keep me going. Thank you so much!!!!
> 
> Now off to open the actual bottle of champagne I set aside for this moment
> 
> Xo


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